


This Much I Know Is True

by KOranges



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 12:26:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 63,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16367756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KOranges/pseuds/KOranges
Summary: When the nurse walked in with Bucky’s visitor, he didn’t even have to fake his amnesia. Because he’d literally never seen the man before in his life. And he had the type of face that Bucky tended to remember. But that didn’t stop the blonde man from gasping like an overly dramatic teenager and pulling Bucky into a tight hug.“This is him,” the man told the nurse, his eyes welling with tears. Bucky gaped at him. “This is my husband.”Bucky could practically watch his carefully constructed plan crumble around him. Still, he tried. “I don’t know him.”“It’s okay, honey,” the nurse cooed at him. “We know you don’t remember.”Steve had his reasons for comitting a felony second degree kidnapping. For one, the guy was an asshole. Like, Grade-A-Probably-Has-Kicked-A-Puppy-At-Some-Point asshole. And second, the guy was going to sit in some backwater mental hospital if Steve didn’t take him in. And thirdly….well, Steve was desperate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My submission for Captain America Big Bang 2018! It has been so much fun. 
> 
> It was a joy to work with two amazing artists on this project! Banner is by ValecitaDraws, and more artwork by angstassart is in the end notes!  
> 

James was going to have to kill someone.

He had four hours until the start of his party and there was an ugly, abrasive and, most importantly, obstructive scaffold being built against the wall of the building adjacent to his terrace. The terrace where his entire party was supposed to be taking place. Contained. Controlled. In full view of the surveillance team that was supposed to be watching every move his guests made.

“Somebody tell me what’s going on.” He ground in to his com. The chick on his lap looked at him funny. He waved her off and pretended to go and get more champagne from the chiller. “Does anyone in the bird’s nest have a clear view?”

There was a chorus of negative responses and some swearing.

James saw the man that was building it, some uneducated blonde idiot that was completely screwing him over. This asshole was going to completely fuck up three entire days’ worth of recon. James started cursing to himself and tried to think of a solution. With the painter’s scaffolding going up, that meant the surveillance team wouldn’t have a clear view of the terrace.

Or Ivan Abramovich.

Or the mysterious American arms dealer Abramovich was in Miami to make a deal with.

“I’ll handle it.” James muttered into the mic. He smiled at his bikini clad companions and held out the bottle of champagne enthusiastically. “Who thinks I can throw this far enough to hit the other building?”

One of them, a bottle blonde with more hair than bikini, tossed her hand up excitedly. “I do!”

“So do I.” The woman next to her agreed. She tossed James a sultry grin.

He couldn’t be less bothered by either of them, which was exactly why he’d been picked for this detail. It was much easier to defend against allegations of distraction or impropriety by putting him in with the gorgeous women instead of, say, Rumlow. Not that had stopped both men from resenting their roles a little bit. James could see Rumlow shooting him jealous glances from where he stood in his stewards’ uniform behind the bar.

“Sir.” He called. “I wouldn’t advise that y-”

James had already launched the bottle.

It hit the structure of the scaffold and shattered, making the girls cheer. But no damage.

“Another.” James cheered. The girls clapped excitedly. Rumlow scowled at him but still handed him another full bottle of champagne. He wound up dramatically, winking at the blonde woman as she cheered him on. Then he launched it.

“Direct hit, sir.” Rumlow informed him. The bottle smashed against the support closest to the worker.

He’d be fine, and wasn’t injured, but he spun to look up at them furiously. “What the hell?”

“You’re ruining my view.” James shouted down to him. He gestured to his decorations. “I’m about to have a party.”

The man shrugged. “Not my problem.”

“Another bottle, Winston.” James told Rumlow. The other man scowled deeply, but fetched the bottle.

“It’s John, sir.” Rumlow corrected him. James played dumb.

“I thought we ordered Dom Pérignon?” He asked. Rumlow closed his eyes and counted to ten. Aloud.

“Not the champagne, sir.” He corrected. James pretended to still not comprehend. Behind him, the girls were giggling uproariously. It only got worse when Rumlow sighed. “My name is John, not Winston.”

James waved a dismissive hand and took the champagne. “Whatever you say, Winston.”

This time the bottle left James’s hand weirdly. He honestly hadn’t meant to aim it that close to the guy’s head. He winced as it shattered mere inches from his face, covering him in champagne and, probably, glass shards. He heard Rumlow swear behind him.

“Deal with that.” James told him, waving Rumlow away. And as he walked. “Get the scaffold moved!”

And then he climbed back into the hot tub with the beautiful women, which should have been a much more enticing offer than it was. They cozied up against him and James turned the music up to some obnoxious level so that they would dance. He pretended to appreciate the view through his sunglasses but in reality was listening as Rumlow tried- and failed- to negotiate with the scaffold man.

“My boss is an ass.” He heard Rumlow tell him. He snorted.

“I heard that.” He muttered.

“What?” The blonde, he thought her name was Candi, stopped dancing to look at him.

“A huge asshole.” Rumlow continued. James grinned and stood to dance with Candi. Selling the ploy.

“I’m going to sue.” The man insisted. James snorted. For what? A champagne shower?

“You couldn’t afford an attorney good enough to touch him.” Rumlow snapped. James snorted. The United States government had deep pockets, but not that deep. This operation had taken everything short of a Senate subcommittee to get approved. It wasn’t like they were the military. At least, not officially the military.

Rumlow wasn’t going to be able to calm this down. He sighed and climbed back out of the hot tub. The girls kept dancing but James grabbed a towel and draped it casually over his shoulder before wandering to the railing. Rumlow was going to absolutely hate this. He forced an insolent grin and leaned over towards where they were talking, holding another champagne bottle loosely.

“Gentleman.” He called. “Is there a problem?”

The blonde guy he’d showered in champagne sputtered angrily. “Is there a problem?”

“That is what I asked you, yes.” He grinned when the man’s face turned even redder.

“Boss.” Rumlow called up warningly.

“Relax, Winston.” He called down. The scaffold guy looked confused and Rumlow looked murderous.

“I’m coming up there.” He shouted. James rolled his eyes. This should be good.

He positioned himself on the wide concrete railing, smiling widely and drinking straight from the champagne bottle. It was non-alcoholic, but the girls definitely didn’t know that. Not that they’d let on at least. James was technically on the job and technically needed a clear head. Technically. So the sweet cloying taste of the champagne came without any of the benefits. James continued to drink it anyway to sell the whole look. Insolent millionaire with more money than brains partying with his girlfriends before a party. That’s all he was.

When the man stepped on to the terrace he looked taken aback. Horrified, actually.

His white t-shirt was stained and ratty. His hair was a wreck. Not styled, barely clean. The man would have a pretty face if it weren’t for the deep dark circles under his eyes. Which, incidentally, were offset by a ring of red irritation that was no doubt caused by James’s champagne. Honestly, James should be the one looking horrified, not whoever this was.

“Can I help you?” He asked. The man was scowling deeply.

“I need you to stop-”

“What?” James held a hand to his ear. The music was loud, but not deafening.

He was cute when he was annoyed. It only made James’s grin spread wider. The man walked over to his speaker and lowered the sound, considered it for a second, and then turned it all the way off. Both of the girls made sounds of disappointment. James shushed them, gesturing indulgently, and moved to sit between them. He might not be a straight man, but he knew a good power play when he saw one.

“Can I help you?” He asked.

“Stop throwing things at me.” The other man snarled. “I have less than two hours to get this up an-”

James clicked his tongue a few times. “That does not work for me.”

“What?” The man stared at him as if he didn’t comprehend.

“I have a party tonight, like I said before.” James said slowly. He was over-enunciating and otherwise being an absolutely jackass, but it was part of the job. Unfortunately for this guy, he was making it way too much fun. “You are completely ruining my view with your….stand-y thing.”

“Scaffold.” The man explained dumbly. “We have a permit.”

Bucky waved a hand dismissively. “Put it up tomorrow. After the party.”

“We have a deadline. The owners want it pai-”

“So you lose an hour or two. Not my problem.” Bucky shrugged. “Do it tomorrow.”

“Excuse me?” The man was flustered, angry, and blushing. James grinned.

“Ignore that thing.” James told him, waving dismissively. “You’re not hideous. Join us in the jacuzzi.”

The girls giggled and waved like he cued them. The man’s jaw hung open. “I’m not. I can’t. I. Um.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.” James teased him.

“I won’t.” The man’s teeth ground together. He was fuming.

“So, that’s a no on the jacuzzi then?” James asked. He was playing it up, but actually was a little disappointed that wasn’t something that was going to happen. “Shame. Isn’t it ladies?”

“It is.” Candi was making eyes at the blonde guy. He continued to stand there, blushing and awkward.

“I can’t. I need to get that scaffold up.” He repeated. Damn broken record, honestly. James sighed.

“What do you do?” James asked him, gesturing to the railing. “ You know, with the stand-y thing.”

“We’re painting the building.” He said finally, crossing his arms. James held up his hands in victory.

“Just bring in more men and paint faster tomorrow. Just no scaffold tonight, yeah? You’re painting an office building beige. It’s not some MoMa masterpiece artwork. You’re not an artist.” He didn’t see why it was such a problem. But he could also practically see that his new friend was definitely about to blow.

“We’re not painting it beige.” He told James tersely. “We’re commercial painters. We d-”

“It’s okay, we all have embarrassing qualities.” James waved him off. Because, really, what did the color matter? Beige, white, brown. It was all the same difference to him. “I mean for me, it’s the questionably translated tattoo on my ass. It was meant to say ‘strength’ but I’m pretty sure it says ‘white asshole’.”

“How apt.” The man drawled shortly. James had to stop a laugh.

“You know, for an attractive man you have a terrible attitude-”

“Gee, thanks.” The blonde interjected angrily.

“-but your embarrassing career choice isn’t my fault.” James told him.

“It’s not embarrassing.” He snapped. James grinned.

“Fine, blue collar. Or whatever the politically correct term is. But you need to let go of that anger. You’d be so much more attractive if you smiled. You’re not bad for a backwoods putz, you know.” James winked at and practically counted down the seconds until the inevitable breakdown. The man stared at him for a minute in absolute shock. Then, finally.

“Exactly who do you think you are?” He sputtered indignantly.

“James Hubbard the third.” James told him. He stepped to grab another glass. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

The sounds that came out of the other man’s mouth couldn’t actually be constituted as speech, but they told James plenty. He was happy they weren’t face to face or he would have seen James’s face crack for a second as he did his best not to laugh. The absolute shocked outrage and horror. Though, James was just glad that he hadn’t gotten himself punched yet.

“And you are?” James asked him, gesturing at his appearance somewhat condescendingly.

“Steve. Steve Rogers.” He nodded. Self-conscious, he lifted a hand to rake fingers through his hair.

It didn’t help the mess of it, but James appreciated the view.

“So we’re clear then?” James asked, gesturing to the general area of the scaffold. Steve frowned.

“What?”

“You’ll take it down now, right?” James asked. He knew the answer already, but the shade of red that Steve turned made asking the question anyway absolutely worth it. Steve sputtered for a few seconds before finally finding the words to respond.

“No.” He shouted. “Fuck no. You don’t own the property. You’re not paying me. I need to get it up.”

James widened his eyes. “I don’t think helping you get it up is my problem.”

The stopped Steve in his tracks. And apparently sent him over the edge. His fist connected with James’s chin and sent him sprawling. He was stronger than he looked, which wasn’t insubstantial. Both girls screamed and darted from the hot tub back in to the apartment. James groaned. Steve was standing above him still looking murderous but James just smirked.

“Oh, I am getting you so fired.” James laughed. It helped take the sting out of the punch. Just a little.

“What?” The man sounded like a broken record. James stood and ignored him.

“Girls.” He called to them. It was partly for cover and partly to see the way Steve’s face turned a bright shade of outraged red. They came back out tentatively. James whipped the towel from his shoulders and tossed it at Steve, hitting him the face. “Thank you for your cooperation. I’m sure you’re little shelf-y thing can go up tomorrow.”

Steve sputtered and threw the towel back. It landed in the hot tub. “I’m not cooperating with anything.”

“You’re not?” He asked.

“I need the scaffold up today. I can’t leave until it’s up.” Steve told him. James cocked a head to the side.

“But I don’t want to look at it during my party. It’s ugly.” And he honestly didn’t see the harm in one day when it was going to scrap his whole operation if it was in place. “And anyway, it’s already going down. See? Cooperation!”

Rumlow and his team had steadily been dismantling it behind them. Steve gaped as he realized.

“No. No. Nonononono.”

James knew to hide this time and missed the brunt of Steve’s fury by stepping in to the apartment, dragging the beautiful blonde girl with him.

“Where are you going?” Steve demanded.

James made a face. “I told you. I have party to get ready for!”

“You have to make them put it back.” Steve pointed towards the destruction.

“I really don’t.” James told him. He rubbed his jaw where Steve had punched him. “Unless you really think your boss needs to know why you needed my help.”

“Help?” Steve gasped out, dumbfounded. James grinned.

“I will see you tomorrow, Stefan!” He called. Steve tried to correct him but James had resumed pulling the blonde towards his bedroom. “I only have three hours to get ready. And with Lydia here helping me, I’m going to need every minute of it, if you know what I mean.”

By the mixture of fury and embarrassment on Steve’s face, he did. The Blonde pouted. “It’s Candi.”

She was? James shrugged, genuinely at a loss. “Of course it is, doll.”

“I can’t leave without that scaffold up.” Steve told him. James just waved him off dismissively.

“Then I guess you’re sleeping here tonight.” James waved. “Goodnight!”

He heard Steve curse a few times, but continued back to the bedroom. Rumlow would make sure the scaffold stayed down, he was sure. Plus, it was already three in the afternoon. It’s not like that guy was going to sit there and rebuild the whole thing just out of spite.

\-------------------------

It was not a surprise to Steve that spite was his absolute strongest motivator. He’d heard it on multiple occasions from some people who were pretty strong authorities on what Steve and would not do. So when Steve screamed after that rich asshole that he was absolutely going to put that scaffold back up, and would have it up before the party, he knew that he absolutely wasn’t leaving until he’d gotten the whole thing erected.

It was only a fourteen foot lift. Two seven foot high sections of pipe with, plus bracing, and a platform at eight feet off the ground. That had to be at least thirty feet long.

He was going to be so, so late.

He hoped Sam could forgive him.

Fury had told him he could leave once he got the scaffold set up. The other crew was coming in at six in the morning to start repainting the exterior of the building and none of them were certified to properly get the scaffold up. It had to be Steve. And Steve couldn’t get in before nine because he’d promised the social worker he would be better about making sure the kids got to school on time (apparently Wanda had a habit of just not going to her first two periods) and stayed there (because apparently Pietro liked to skip his last two periods). When it had first come up he’d promised to personally drive to school in the morning and arrange for someone to pick them both up in the afternoon.

Which had been a month ago. And he hadn’t gotten there but like three times. Work kept interfering and Steve was still having to rely on the bus, Sam, or Natasha. Once this job for S.H.I.E.L.D. was finished, Steve would be able to sleep normal hours and actually be a solid foster father to his kids.

The point remained that he had things he needed to do. That he’d promised to do.

Steve hadn’t meant not to keep the promise.

He was damn sure going to keep the promise tomorrow.

He could hardly contain his temper and tried to focus on working. He needed to leave no later than four. If he didn’t leave by four, he wouldn’t make it in time for Sam to leave for his night watch at the base. And Sam really bitched about being late, even when he knew his partner Riley would absolutely cover for him. Something about being a roommate and not a co-parent. Steve understood, but really just didn’t have enough hours in the day.

But he wasn’t leaving without that scaffold up, secured, and inspected. Usually he could call on Clint to help, but something had happened with his dog, Lucky, and he had called out the entire day. Which meant he was probably home playing X-Box. Steve was tempted to call him out on it.

“My boss already said no scaffold.” Winston- or was it John?- told him Firmly.

Steve lifted and secured the next bar.

“ ‘d you hear me?” The man snapped. His professional demeanor was slipping.

Steve tied off the x-bracing and tightened it with his wrench instead of responding.

“Hey, buddy.” The assistant put hands on Steve, which was further than Steve could let it go. He shoved him to the ground roughly and went back to his work. He had less than hour and more than halfway to go.

“I’ve got a job to do, asshole.” Steve told him.

“You’re a painter.” He gestured to Steve’s shirt and logo. Steve glowered.

“I get paid. Same as you.” Steve shrugged. Probably better, but Steve wouldn’t go there.

“I’m not letting the scaffold go up.” He crossed his arms.

“Listen, Winston.” He heard the man huff but Steve kept going. “I have a contract in my truck that says the owner wants it here. I have a permit from the city telling me I can block the sidewalk. I have approved paint samples and an approved schedule.”

Winston held up his hands defensively.  “My boss has his party tonight.”

“ _My_ boss doesn’t care.” Steve told him with a shrug.

“You can’t-”

“You either come back with a police officer to stop me or I totally can.” Steve snapped. This was wasting time that he didn’t have. He still had three bays of scaffolding to go. Steve winced at his watch and turned away from the asshole’s assistant.

He didn’t leave, but stood there and watched Steve as he worked without saying anything. It was weird. But Steve didn’t have the time to care about that. He checked his work and tagged where he needed to certify that it was built properly. Approximately three seconds after the last bar was checked, Steve was in his car and racing for the house.

He got there at 6:30.

Shit.

He didn’t even have to go inside to know that Sam was going to be pissed.

Mostly because he was standing on the porch, scowling at him.

Wanda and Pietro were sitting on the steps of the porch sharing a bowl of ice cream. An older woman with greying hair was standing behind them, next to Sam, and appeared to be having an amiable conversation with the twins. Wanda even giggled at something she said, which lit up her whole face. It was almost more than Steve had been able to manage since they’d moved in with him. It didn’t help that they both mainly spoke Sokovian.

“I’m so sorry that I’m late.” Steve called over as he bounded out of the car. Four heads turned towards him sharply. “I couldn’t get away from work.”

The older woman stuck at her hand for him to shake, but glared at him with pursed lips. “You’re late.”

Hadn’t he just said that he knew that? And was sorry?

“Yes.” Steve nodded. Because he had been, and it was rude.

“He’s a painter.” Wanda told the woman. Her voice didn’t betray any opinion on the matter. Just a statement of fact as she stared at him, head tilted slightly to the side. She slid her gaze back to the older woman. “And a carpenter. And he works at the pizza place with Tasha.”

“Very busy, then.” The woman raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Steve admitted. He felt uncomfortable. He knew he looked a mess. He knew he was flustered.

“Since the foster parent’s here.” Sam’s voice told Steve he was going to be hearing about it later, but was amiable enough to the outsiders. “I’m going to leave for work.”

As he left, both twins jumped up to hug his leg goodbye. Wanda first, but Pietro always followed suit. When Wanda trusted somebody, Pietro did too simply by default. It stung Steve a little bit that they did seem to be more affectionate with Sam than they were with him. But they did seem to know that this was not a moment to hold back and immediately following saying goodbye to Sam they ran over and said hi to Steve. He knelt down to give them both hugs.

When he stood, the older woman was glaring at him, not in a hostile way but in one that was definitely vaguely disapproving. Steve didn’t even know why she was there. The twins didn’t seem to mind her, but her presence made the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand up.

“Why don’t we all step inside?” He suggested. The woman nodded curtly.

“Yes.” She pursed her lips. “Lets.”

*********************************

“An _observational period_.” Steve told Natasha over the phone later. The twins were in bed and he had earned a much-needed beer. “Apparently the school called them. It’s not a punishment, it’s a standards thing. But my case is under review for the next 60 days.”

He didn’t have to be there to know the pained face Natasha was making. “Shit.”

“I can’t let them take the twins.” Steve whispered.

“We won’t let that happen.” Natasha assured him.

Steve felt like crying. “This is the last thing I need right now.”

“Want me to come over?” She offered. Steve settled at his kitchen table, resting his head on it heavily.

“No.” He admitted.

“Sounds like you do.” She continued, her voice a little sing-songy.

“Nah.” Steve’s voice was mumbled in to the table. “Just tell your husband I hate him for skipping out on me to play X-Box. I had to deal with the customer from hell this afternoon. I blame him.”

He literally heard her relay the message to Clint. “He says not to be such a baby.”

Clint’s voice came through the background shouting something about Lucky. Steve ignored him.

“Tell him he has no fucking clue. And he owes me so big. He’s going to hear about all of it tomorrow.”

She laughed at him. Steve felt like shit. His temper still hadn’t calmed down from dealing with James fucking Whatever-His-Last-Name-Was the Third. Before he knew it, he was telling her the whole thing. From her laughter, Steve didn’t think she was showing him the proper amount of anger on his behalf. She was relaying some details of it to Clint, but after a while just put him on speaker phone. Steve regaled them with the whole story from initial bottle toss to the punch in his unfairly perfect jaw.

“A _champagne bottle_?” Clint was barely able to get the words out through laughter.

“Personally, I’d like to hear more about how unfairly attractive he is.” Natasha amusement was clear.

“I’d like to personally strangle you both.” He told them. It just led to another round of laughter.

“I can’t wait to explain to Fury that you got stopped by flying _champagne bottles_ on the S.H.I.E.L.D. job.” Clint told him. He was practically giggling like a child. “Already three weeks behind and you have some jerk tossing Moet at you.”

Steve snorted derisively. “You think I let him stop me?”

“You stayed?” Clint asked him.

“Of course, I did.” Steve insisted. He preened a little, proud of himself. “I wasn’t going to leave until it was up. And I used anti-theft bolts. So it’s not coming down.”

Natasha cleared her throat. “And that’s why you were late getting back?”

“I told Fury I’d have it done.” Steve explained with a shrug.

“You promised Sam you’d stop making him late for work.” Natasha scolded. Steve huffed.

“Sam’s fine. He has job security. Keeping this job is more important than being a little late home.” Steve insisted. The job had run late. Clint had even hinted how mad Fury would be. Natasha said nothing and Steve rolled his eyes to himself.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me just because I’m right.” She said sharply. Clint started laughing at them.

“You sound like the Child Services lady now, Nat.” Steve whined, but he was laughing too.

“You roll your eyes at her too?” Natasha challenged. Steve had not. He’d thought about it. He’d been sorely tempted. But he’d managed to refrain from it until after she’d left him with a stack of paperwork about being under observation. Barely.

He did feel better after hanging up with Natasha and Clint. They continued to chide him for abusing Sam’s more flexible schedule but also commiserated about the awful client and the unfairness of his current schedule’s impact on his foster children. Neither Nat nor Clint had the time to help him, not with their pizza shop, but they’d always done what they could. Which was why the phone call ended with a promise to bring the twins by for dinner the following night.

After the call, Steve went out to the garage to the makeshift studio he’d made behind the lawnmower and bicycles. He’d have another two or three hours of enough energy to get some work done before exhaustion took over. Then an hour to tidy the house- not clean, just shove the toys and detritus to consolidated corners so the house looked like less of a pigsty. Then about four hours of sleep before he had to wake up the twins for school. Wash, Rinse, Repeat.

He didn’t even realize he was falling asleep until he slid off the stool on to the floor.

\-------------------------

It was a hell of a party, even James had to admit that much. He only wished that he could actually enjoy it. Instead, he was making strategic rounds, based on the communication from the surveillance team in the apartment the next floor down. The entire apartment was packed with people, but none were the specific man that Hydra had tasked them with luring in.

“Boss.” Rumlow called. “Abramovich hasn’t arrived yet. I’m going to walk the street.”

James glanced towards the bar and frowned. “But you’re the only one mixing my drinks properly.”

“You’re literally drinking a Coke. Rum and Coke without the rum.” Rumlow snapped. James just grinned and raised his glass to a random old white man just because he knew Rumlow was watching him. “You are literally the worst.”

“Jack, go check the street.” James ordered. There was a snort of laughter on the communication link.

“Sure thing, boss.” Jack replied. James watched Rumlow glare at him over his bar counter in the corner.

Jack disappeared back into the apartment. James walked to the ledge of the balcony and watched the street. A few minutes later, Jack appeared on the street. James watched him head towards the corner as if he was taking a stroll with his cigarette instead of searching for signs of a Russian invasion. James turned and leaned back against the rail, sipping his drink casually.

“Are we scanning the faces of our guests?” James asked the team in his earpiece.

There wasn’t a response right away. James used his glace to hide the frown.

“I’m not hearing a super confident ‘yes, of course, boss’ like I want to.” James told them over the microphone. Still nothing. His frown deepened even further. The glass wasn’t going to hide the pain in his expression anymore. James turned towards the street again. “Can someone just explain to me _why_ we’re not scanning faces?”

Someone cleared their throat. “That set up was in the adjacent building. Sir.”

“And?”

“And the scaffold is blocking the cameras.” The response was quick. Like pulling a Band-Aid. He swore.

“And?” James had to feign a smile as one of the beautiful women the party had been filled with came to the railing next to him. She practically simpered at him when he acknowledged her. Obviously she was trying to strike up a conversation, but James ignored her. It was a shame, because she was strikingly gorgeous- all Old Hollywood glamour with blonde hair and sinfully red lips- but she wasn’t his type either way. He was busy and it would be a waste of her time.

“Excuse me.” He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket apologetically. “I have to make a call.”

Her smile weakened slightly- but only slightly- before she nodded. “Don’t mind me.”

“Don’t go far.” He told her warmly, giving her a wink. She’d have moved on in five minutes, but now wouldn’t think he was quite so rude. James walked to the corner of the balcony quickly, looking down the street with the scaffolding. He dialed one of the downstairs’ surveillance team and waited for an answer.

“Hello?” The agent answered timidly.

“Take care of it.” He growled into the phone. The agent didn’t bother asking him to specify what.

“Yes, sir.”

“ _Now_.” He snapped.

James wished he still had the flip phone he grew up with so he could have the satisfaction of snapping the phone closed as he hung up on their excuses. There was something a lot less satisfying about angrily tapping the ‘Disconnect’ button on a touch screen. It didn’t have the same flair.

He turned to head back in to the party, spinning on his heel, and almost took out the gorgeous blonde who had approached him by the railing. She was still smiling all coquettishly. It was just a little too self-aware for it to be innocent, but that was certainly the expression she was aiming for. He smiled, prepared to deflect, and tucked the phone back in to his pocket.

“Hey, doll.” He smiled down at her. She smiled back up at him. “Something I can help you with?”

She laughed, something much deeper and more sensual than he’d been expecting. “I don’t think so.”

“You’re not here to do business?” He asked her, pretending to be surprised.

“Oh, I don’t know about all that.” She laughed and glanced towards the crowd.

She’d come here with someone and was looking for them now. James could tell. He heard Rumlow in his ear explaining why they didn’t have an ID and the agent from downstairs talking over him to try and explain why the scaffolding wasn’t going to be able to be moved to run facial ID’s.

“Smart girl like you wasting a night of opportunity like this?” He challenged. She laughed.

“Oh, you have no idea.” She told him, her look morphing in to something more predatory.

“That so?” He asked her. She took a step closer to him, snagged the glass from his hand, and swigged.

“I don’t waste opportunities.” She told him. Then she raised his glass. “But apparently you do.”

She set the glass down after completely draining it. James had to laugh to himself because, honestly, if he wasn’t just a little bit terrified and very much not straight, he’d have totally fallen for the move head over heels. Talk about a power move. “I don’t drink much anymore, I’m afraid. What can I say? We all have our vices. You busted me.”

“I most certainly did.” She nodded, smiling at him. She took another step forward.

It was at that moment that James realized he had been cornered. Not maliciously, as far as he could tell, but certainly eagerly. Unless he was going to jump over a couch, the woman very much had him stuck in this side corner of the balcony. He hadn’t even realized she’d been herding him backwards. And there wasn’t even another person on this side of the party either, they’d mostly been congregating by the open bar and music, leaving this area for- if smell was anything to go buy- some pretty inconsiderate cigar smokers.

He took another step back and his calves hit a small coffee table. His whole system tensed. James had never liked feeling trapped. It wasn’t this poor woman’s fault, but he felt the panicked bile rising in the back of his throat.

“Why don’t we go listen to the music?” He tried, as smooth as he could muster.

She shook her head, tucking a single blonde piece of hair behind her ear. “I was enjoying out little chat.”

“Were you?” He asked. She took another step forward. There was no further back from him to go.

“It was _invigorating._ ” The emphasis she put on the word made James’ skin crawl.

“Boss, we need you in the store room.” One of the other agents called for him, in cover as a server.

James hope the woman didn’t take it the wrong way, but he practically shoved her out of the way in order to get away. He was at a party of black market arms dealers and other smugglers and, frankly, didn’t quite like the idea of _any_ of them catching him alone- even the petite gorgeous Russian women.

“Have a nice night, James.” She called after him. James paused, tossed a weak smile and waved over his shoulder, and kept moving. That was not a viper’s nest that he planned on going back in to. He followed the agent- Johnson or something, if James remembered correctly- into the apartment and then over to the bar.

“Tell me we have facial recognition up and running.” James demanded.

“Sir, the scaffold-”

“That hasn’t been _handled_ yet?” James snapped he sighed and turned towards the back area, ignoring the server’s protests. This was a staging area for the servers, who were all trained operatives. Rookie duty, but they were doing it well. From there he took the stairs down one level.

The room was half storage for the ‘caterer’ and half computer banks showing limited surveillance. The rest had needed to be placed across the street for space. James had thought the crew was meant to be six in the room and twelve serving upstairs, but there were only two at the computers and three servers. A glance at the screen only showed a handful upstairs at the most.

The few that were in the room turned their heads as he entered. James scowled at them. That didn’t exactly give him the highest level of confidence in their focus. He was an agent, not a legend. One of the younger ones actually had the nerve to point at him and mouth ‘The Winter Soldier’ to his partner in a stage whisper. James took two strides towards him and grabbed the finger.

“Do not point at your target.” He told them firmly. “Ever. Even if you know you’ve been spotted.”

The agent whose finger James was holding swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Point that at me again and you’re not gonna get it back.” He snapped at him. Somebody scoffed.

“You gonna tell them that’s how you lost your arm?” Rumlow was in one of the seats, bowtie untied and opened bag of chips in his hands with his dress shoes on the table in front of him. He turned to the young agents. “That used to be his thing. Tell everyone he lost his arm taking a swing at the wrong guy.”

James snorted and rolled his eyes. “I did.”

“You lost it in a plane crash.” Rumlow pointed out. “I was there.”

James snagged the bag of chips from him, saw they were sour cream and onion, and changed his mind. He sat on the counter and shrugged. The look he gave Rumlow was dark, and not just for his taste in chips. They’d both been on that plane, just like Rumlow said. And they both knew why it went down. Instead of getting in to it, he grinned towards the younger agents and gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Planes tend to crash when you knock out the pilot.” He explained.

“That they do.” Rumlow laughed but it sounded hollow. James gave him one last glare before standing.

“Did you actually need me?” James asked the agent who saved him. “Or were you just extricating me?”

Johnson laughed. “Both. Didn’t never see a man look so fuckin’ scared of a little old woman like that.”

“You and I have not met the same women.” James said with an exaggerated shudder. It got a laugh from the ones who thought he was joking. “Those are some of the most dangerous people I know.”

James watched the screen that Rumlow was facing, a view of the street. James leaned forwards and saw what the problem was- and where all of his agents were- it appeared the scaffold was more of an issue than any of them had anticipated. They had eight agents- two on each corner- literally dragging it down the street. James rubbed a hand over his face. Sometimes the level of stupidity in other people just astounded him.

Rumlow and Jack were keeping a running commentary on the form and progress. James had better shit to do. He stomped down the stairs of the building- forgoing the elevator- and out the front doors. The idiots were directly across the street.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He shouted. Most of the agents had the good sense to rush inside at his tone, but one didn’t. They turned and faced James obliviously. This was going to be a scene. But then again, a group of nicely dressed waiters dragging a scaffold down the street was also going to be a scene. James was just going to have to make it work.

“You…” The agent looked between the scaffold and James nervously. “You said to take care of it.”

James gave an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, I did. But not like a baboon.”

“You mean a buffoon?” The agent asked.

“No.” He snapped. But yes. The English had escaped him temporarily. He swore to himself quietly and spun towards where several of the party guests were _also_ watching his agents act like idiots on a public street. “Wave hello to the people. The ones you’re supposed to be _serving alcohol_.”

“Um.” The agent swallowed uncomfortably.

“Who wants a drink?” James called up to the guests enthusiastically. Several raised glasses and cheers.

“Sir.” The agent shifted, still eyeing the scaffold. “It’s not far enough. It won’t work.”

James just glared at him. “You made it a scene. We don’t make scenes. We do things _quietly_ in Hydra.”

“But” They tried to argue.

“No.” James snapped. “You want to be fired on top of embarrassed?”

They swallowed. “No.”

“Then get upstairs and be a goddamn waiter or you’ll end up a waiter for real. Understood?” They nodded twice but didn’t move until Bucky physically gestured for them to get out of his way. At that point they were smart enough to take off for the front doors of the apartment building. James rolled his eyes at their back. He leaned his chin down to speak directly in to his microphone.

“Make an excuse. Empty the patio for twenty minutes.” James sighed. “Get this scaffold moved _quietly._ ”

The line cracked for a second before there was nothing. Almost like someone removing their line.

“GET IN HERE.” Someone shouted. James took off for the front doors.

When James got through the front doors, he noticed a lot of things very quickly. The blonde, gorgeous woman from upstairs. But she was, shockingly, the least surprising thing in the room. What made the most urgent impression was the barrel of the gun. He saw the other agents- both the ones still standing and the ones on the ground. And he saw his only other option. James dropped and scattered backwards over the shattered glass of the front doors and outside on to the street.

“You know, we never did introduce ourselves earlier.” The woman told him, calling across the street. “And really, James, that was just not every well-done of us. I’m Dottie.”

He really didn’t need her name. He turned to his mic. “Where is my back up?”

“I’m afraid they won’t be coming.” Dottie’s voice came over his com link. James ripped it out of his ear.

This was just perfect. He hid in an alcove and tried to make himself invisible.

“I’m afraid I’m going to need your help.” Dottie told him, clicking her tongue.

James didn’t really care what she needed from him. A bullet hit a little close to the top of his head and he ducked, hitting the ground. Two more quickly followed, so James took off. They were in a crowded area. This wasn’t a city, but it was big enough that there should people. Where were all of the people?

As if he summoned it, a car turned on to the street, coming from the same direction that James was running. But then he realized that it was coming too quickly. And it was coming straight for him. James swore- loudly- and turned on his heel. Two more shots rang out and hit the wall above his head. He swore. Ducking as much as he could. He dove on to the sidewalk, but the car followed suit. It hopped the curb and headed straight for him.

His only option was to jump in to the scaffold, clambering up to the top level. James expected the car to stop, or at least slow down, but it didn’t it slammed straight into the scaffold. The whole structure hit the building and skidded about fifteen feet down the sidewalk. Then the car reversed and hit it again. The scaffold started to topple against the corner of the building. It all started to cave within itself, collapsing. James tried to stay on top of it but the supports caught him and he ended up trapped within the metal supports.

James swore repeatedly. He was seeing stars from where his head had slammed against the brick of the building. He was trying to make his way out, but his ankle was caught between a metal plank for the walkway and the metal bracing.

“Get this mess off the main road.” James heard Dottie call. She must be speaking to the drivers.

“And him?” A male voice asked.

“Take care of that mess too.” She snapped.

The car’s engine revved and James felt the whole scaffold shift. It was agonizing because he could feel every vibration. The whole thing slowly moved down the alley. Once he could no longer see the end of the alley, they reversed the car. And then gunned it forward. One of the last things James saw before every went dark was the headlights of the car as it slammed in to the scaffolding one more time.

\-----------------------------------------

James groaned.

He was alive, then. Brilliant. Just amazing.

Honestly, in that exact moment he was almost wishing that he wasn’t. Everything hurt. The skin where his prosthetic attached ached where it had been yanked. It was red, angry, and irritated. James could relate. He could relate a lot more than he wanted to. Reluctantly, because it hurt like hell, he started climbing himself out of the pile of rubble.

James had asked that asshole to not put up the scaffold. He’d been so clear. Rumlow should have handled it. James was pretty sure that made this entire mess Blondie’s fault. The scaffold shouldn’t have even been there, much less currently bent into a crumpled heap that was stabling James awkwardly in the ribs. If it hadn’t been, they would have seen the attack coming from a mile away and Abramovich would be in custody.

James saw the flush of the gun in his mind and flinched. It had been pointed right at him. Not at the other agents, but at him. They’d known about the operation, and they’d known that he’d been the head of it. The target had been on his head. He finally fell out of the pile of scaffold and on to the ground. Moving felt like a horrible idea so he just laid for a moment on the pavement hating his own existence.

“What else is new?” James grumbled to himself.

He forced himself to standing despite his body’s protests. And it protested loudly. Literally. He groaned from the moment he started standing to the moment he was upright.

“Alright. Now just to find someplace to hide before I get killed.” He told himself, taking a deep breath.

“Talking to myself. Perfectly healthy.” James admonished with a scoff.

“Because I’m the paragon of health, I guess.” He mocked. After a few unsteady steps towards the main road he realized that was not the right direction to head. He resented every step he’d taken that far, pouted for a second, and then turned in the other direction.

He made it about fifteen steps before falling when he stepped on his sore ankle wrong.

It was throbbing now. Painfully. James swore a few times, quietly but incredibly emphatically, and decided to stay where he was. Just for a few minutes. Until everything stopped hurting quite so bad. He forced a hand up to his head and felt around blindly. He had a gash of some kind above his hair line that was causing the pieces that weren’t tied back to get sticky and wet and fall in to his face.

Of course he did.

There was a noise at the end of the alley.

Several masked men armed with multiple guns- which was really overkill, in his opinion. Wouldn’t one gun with sufficient ammo been enough?- appeared at the opening on to the main road. Not even attempting to disguise what they were carrying. Amateurs. But it was also several more guns than he was carrying at the moment which meant that, in the inevitable conflict coming in a few seconds, James was most likely going to get shot. Which he would prefer not to happen, if he got a say in the matter. He knew it wouldn’t help but he laid incredibly still and hoped they just…wouldn’t see him.

“Is he dead?” One of them asked. Well, there went Plan A.

“He’s not moving.” The other said. “But they wanted proof.”

The first man snorted. “And they expect us to what? Serve his head on a silver platter?”

“I guess.” His friend must have shrugged. James heard their weapon shift.

“We could take the arm?” It didn’t sound like a joke. James really hope they decided against it. His arm already hurt and he really didn’t think they had the complex medical equipment that was required to actually detach the arm properly. As far as shadowy government agencies went, James’ really had the best medical insurance. It hadn’t spared any expense when it came to his replacement appendage. Those connections went _deep_ and James didn’t think it was something with a quick-release latch.

“Nah, they said proof. Not gore.” James heard a shutter click. “A picture will have to suffice.”

There was another humorless laugh from the second man. “And they said he’d be hard to kill.”

“He was a good man.” The first man snapped. Good might be a stretch, but James would take it.

“I’m sure he was. Valuable, at least.” The snicker of the second man was as obnoxious as his tone.

“You’re an ass.”

“You’re the one who killed him.” His friend snapped defensively. James decided he didn’t like him.

“And I have the common decency to not be a shit about it.” He snapped at his friend. James wanted to smile but kept himself perfectly still. “We’re getting paid. This is a job. And if you’re going to be weird about it then you can keep your mouth shut.”

His friend just grunted.

James tried to move, but he hurt too bad. Even after the two attackers left, he didn’t move. Honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure that he could and didn’t want to press the issue. Rumlow would find him. Or one of the other guys on his team. They’d bring a med unit in and then he’d be fine. It was just a few bumps and bruises. Maybe a few stiches behind where he hit his head. His ankle was probably sprained. It didn’t feel broken, just tender.

More than anything else, his head hurt. Ached. He the light from the end of the alley- bright neon from the storefronts on the main street- was making it worse. Piercing, practically. So he shut his eyes because moving wasn’t an option.

And somehow when he opened them again, it was daylight.

Daylight. Which was so, so much brighter than storefront lights.

“Ow.” James grumbled to himself.

He moaned pitifully. His team hadn’t found him yet, so he was safe from ridicule. Also safe from medical help, which he most definitely needed if the sparklers going off behind his eyelids was any indication. They didn’t want to stay open.

“Sir?” Somebody was calling for him. Probably what woke him up in the first place.

“Are you okay?” This voice was a child’s. James groaned. He couldn’t scare a child by lying there dead.

“We’ve called the ambulance for you.” The adult called. James groaned again, louder. “You look hurt.”

James wasn’t going to get away with only grunts. “No ambulance. ‘m okay.”

“You don’t look okay.” The child called back.

“I am.” James insisted.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.” James argued back before catching himself. He sighed.

“No, you’re not.” The child snapped back at him. James bit his tongue instead of responding.

They didn’t leave. James could tell without even looking towards the alley entrance. He didn’t move, not wanting to exacerbate any injuries. Neither did they, probably because he was a badly beaten stranger lying in a dirty unfamiliar alley. He heard the ambulance approaching before he even had the chance to fall back asleep, which he didn’t appreciate. Shouldn’t the response time in a backwater like this be a lot slower? He just wanted a rest.

“He was lying here as we went by.” The woman was explaining. “He didn’t respond when he called him.”

The was a huff from the little girl. “I thought he was drunk.”

The response was unexpected enough from such a young, exasperated child that Bucky’s head snapped up towards it. The little girl was staring right at him. It hurt his eyes so he let them close again. The EMT’s had been staring at him too. He’d have to have a story soon enough. At least one that would work well enough until he got to a phone in the hospital to call in to Rumlow or Pierce.

“Sir?” A hand was at his neck, checking his pulse. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine.” James grumbled. “I told them that already.”

The was a chuckle and the sound of someone rummaging through a bag. “Can you move?”

He rolled over on to his back and accidentally knocked their first aide bag over. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine.” The EMT told him, smiling widely.

“I’m fine.” James agreed. He managed to nod weakly.

They checked his eyes, which hurt, and cleaned the scrape on his head. There was a man and a woman and the while he worked on tending his injuries, she kept asking him questions. How was he feeling? What had he been doing? Did he know what happened? Did he know how he got that specific scrape? And James was expected to answer, so he did. He was feeling fine. He didn’t know. He might have been mugged. And probably the same way he got the rest of them, but he wasn’t sure.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

James just stared at her. He still didn’t have a plan. He still didn’t have a lie to tell. Her partner stopped.

“Beth.” He said quietly. “I don’t…I don’t think he remembers anything.”

It was a whisper, but it was what he needed. “I know who I am.”

“You do.” He nodded, clearly back tracking slightly. “Can you tell me what street we’re on?”

In this town? James couldn’t do that on a good day, much less now. This was easy. “Main street?”

“And in what city?” He pressed. James forced a determined look that caved in to confusion. It was the performance of a lifetime, if he said so himself. And with a bum limb and a head injury on top of it. Honestly, this was shaping up to be a great story. Sure to get laughs.

_‘Remember that time I pretended to have amnesia to avoid the cops?’_

“Sir, can you tell me your name?” The woman asked him. James open and closed his mouth a few times.

“I..I” He trailed off and pretended that he was getting choked up. “I don’t think I remember.”

\-------------------------------------------

Steve woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. He already felt the stress in the back of his neck before having a single other conscious thought. It was like his body knew it was going to be a long day and was preemptively punishing for it. Harshly. Steve rubbed his hands against his face and began accepting the fact that his day was going to suck.

The blaring ring of his phone really didn’t help convince him otherwise.

Nobody called anybody before five-thirty in the morning without there being something gravely wrong. And given that neither of Steve’s children had set off the monitors he kept in their rooms, it wasn’t anything wrong with them. Which meant it had something to do with work. Probably wanting him to cover an extra shift. Steve had no kind words for Nick Fury before seven in the morning, at the absolutely earliest, and much later on days he wasn’t even scheduled to work for him. Steve let it go to voicemail.

It immediately started ringing again.

“No.” Steve whined. But he picked it up anyway.

“Rogers.” Fury snapped into the phone before Steve even had a chance to say hello.

“Here.” Steve grumbled. He sat up. Phillip’s tone said nothing good was going to follow it. Steve would not be going back to sleep. Accepting his fate, Steve reached for the lamp and switched it on. His day was starting a little early, he assumed.

“I need you to give me three solid reasons not to fire you.” Fury snapped at him.

Steve was instantly awake.

“Excuse me?” Fury threatened to fire him multiple times a week. But his tone was furious.

“How clear was I that I needed this scaffold up yesterday?”  Fury asked him. Steve pinched his nose.

“Very.” Steve nodded. That’s why he’d stayed late to make sure it was done.

“So, you’d have a really good explanation for not doing that then?” Fury asked him. Steve took a moment to process the question because surely his sleep addled brain had misunderstood. He had stayed late the night before to finish that work. He’d put in several extra hours to get it done.

“I did.” Steve said dumbly. “I did do that.”

He heard a snort. “Oh, so I’m calling at five thirty in the morning because I enjoy your witty repartee?”

“Maybe?” Steve knew it was dumb as soon as he said it. Luckily, Fury laughed.

“We’ve got an hour until our whole crew shows up and no scaffold for them to work on.” Fury snapped at him. Steve winced, but he knew what was coming so he was already tugging on some clean clothes and grabbing some socks from his drawer. “Get here, and quickly, before I fire you for real.”

Steve just sighed. “Yes, sir.”

******************************

Steve bumbled in to Sam’s room, nearly tripping some boots on the floor. He barely managed to stay standing. Steve reached for a socked foot hanging off of the end of the bed and shook it as hard as he could. There was a groan from under the covers but no response.

“Man, I’ve got to go to work. Fury’s got his panties in a twist.” Steve shook the foot again.

Another grumble from under the covers.

“Sam, wake up.” Steve shook the foot even harder. “I need you to get the twins ready for school.”

“I’m not Sam.” A voice- deep and gravelly that was definitely not Sam’s snapped. Steve stumbled back.

“Sam?” He tried again. The foot he’d been grabbing yanked away from him. But there was another sigh from under the covers that was distinctly more familiar. Sam appeared, sitting up in the bed and staring Steve down with a level of frustration that they hadn’t previously reached in their relationship.

“I hate you so much.” Sam grumbled. Steve looked down at his feet. Noticed the two pairs of boots.

“Is this Riley?” Steve asked with a gasp. The laughter from the other man told him his was right.

Sam tossed a pillow directly in to his face.

“I’ll get your kids to school just leave. Otherwise they’re walking.” Sam demanded. Steve was going to be late so he left, shutting the door behind him with the a snap. He was out the door five minutes later, bagel and coffee in hand, to meet Fury at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility.

**********************************

They found the scaffold a block away and down an alley, completely mangled. Fury was staring down at it as if it was disappointing him, but Steve was almost in awe. It wasn’t disassembled. It was shoved down the alley whole, bent, and tipped over. It was no accident. Steve could at least stand by the claim that he’d gotten it up, but was at a loss for explaining how it ended up where it was.

“You’re fired.” Fury said sharply. Steve stopped trying to explain.

“Again?” Steve asked him.

“Fired.” Fury repeated with a shrug. His frown seemed to fall just short of sympathetic.

“Fired?” Steve was just trying to annoy him at this point, and Fury knew it.

“That’s what I said.” Fury snapped at him. And with that, he put his sunglasses back on and turned away to walk down the street. Steve was left standing by himself by the trashed scaffold looking between it and the retreating man.

“Like, for real this time?” Steve called after him. Fury held a middle finger up but said nothing.

Steve turned back to the scaffold and sighed. For insurance purposes, he snapped some photos of the damage. Some of the bars and joints were not going to be reusable. Replacing them was going to come with a fairly hefty price tag. It was a deliberate destruction. Pointed. Steve was almost tempted to call it angry of all things. And while staring at it, the realization of exactly who was to blame struck him directly in the chest.

“Fucking asshole.” Steve kicked a stone on the ground. “Fucking rich fucking asshole. Fucking rich fucking asshole fucking ruining fucking everything.”

Someone laughed behind him. “Rough morning?”

It was Clint. Steve would have laughed if he still wasn’t so angry. “You could say that. I got fired.”

He stopped in his tracks, coffee halfway to his mouth. “Again?”

Steve just shrugged. That part hadn’t exactly been clear. “Maybe? I’ll check with Fury tomorrow.”

“Why?” He asked.

In response, Steve just gestured to the trashed scaffold taking up half the alley.

“You did that?” Clint asked. His eyes were a little wide. Steve just leveled him with a glare. Clearly, this was not the work of a single man. Even one with a destructive streak as wide as Steve’s. Clearly this took a special level of asshole- one only achieved by those humans with brain defects that made them borderline psychopathic. Like the rich asshole from the night before.

“James Hubbard.” Steve intoned. “The third.”

Clint remembered enough of the story from the night before to wince at the named. “And you’re fired?”

None of the words that came out of Steve’s mouth were polite.

It took Steve, Clint, and Clint’s truck to get the scaffold from the alley. And the both of them, plus a few of the painters that had showed up to work, to get the bent and broken pieces removed. They were going to have some of the spare pieces brought from the shop but they cobbled together enough solid pieces for two of the four bays to be fully assembled. Steve could make nice to Fury and come back after work to finish the other two bays. It would have to be good enough.

Wait. Work.

Steve had to go to work. At his other job.

“Don’t you have a different job to get to this morning?” Clint asked him, right as Steve fastened the last tie. Just as the realization was already dawning on him. “One that expects you to show up if you want to get paid? And a boss that will actually fire you?”

Steve sprinted away without even picking up his tools. He heard Clint laughing behind him as he ran.

“You’re fired.” Steve was only fifteen steps onto the job site and the foreman didn’t even look up from the table saw he was working on to fire him.

“I’m here.” Steve insisted. “There was just a problem with m-”

The old man stopped cutting, spat, and looked over at Steve. “I don’t care.”

“We’ve got a lot to get done today,” Steve told him, stepping around him gently.

“And we’ve got a handle on it already. You can go.” He scratched his beard and turned to put his back to Steve and go back to work. Steve just stood there awkwardly. This wasn’t his highest paying job, but it was definitely one that he’d be hurting to go without.

Steve was swearing over and over in his head. He’d be fine. It would be fine. He now had to report to Child Protective Services that he’d lost one of his jobs the day after being placed on Supervision, but that was fine. He’d be okay. It was absolutely awful and awkward and embarrassing, but it was okay. He’d been more humiliated while trying to explain to the smug people at the adoption agency why he wanted to adopt as a single gay man. Well, as a single not-straight man.

Standing there was only going to be a further embarrassment, so Steve just left. He sent a text to Clint and Natasha, letting them know what had happened. Clint was at work for Fury and Natasha was running her pizza shop, so neither of them responded but venting about it made him feel better. Then he sent an email to May Parker about his wonderful news. Then he put his phone on airplane mode because, honestly, he wasn’t ready to hear any response from her about it. If he was in even more trouble, it could wait for a few hours.

\----------------------------------

“So, what are you doing to do?” Natasha asked him. He was leaning against the counter next to her while she worked. “I don’t need to stress you out more. But that’s half your income out the window.”

She really, really hadn’t needed to remind him. “I don’t know.”

“We could use a delivery driver.” She told him. “Our last one hadn’t realized they needed a license.”

Steve snorted. He knew their driver. “Kate?”

“Yeah. Apparently she forgot to tell Clint about that part.” Natasha sighed and punched the dough she was working before portioning it out for individual pies. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d been a delivery driver when Natasha first opened her business ten years before. It wasn’t something that he remembered with a great level of fondness.

“I might have to. At least for now.” Steve admitted. “But that’s going to be more hours away from the kids. It’s not like you open at 7 A.M. like a job site. And Sam’s already pissed off about covering for me.”

“Maybe because you take advantage of him.” Natasha warned softly. Steve sighed.

“Let me talk to Fury first and I’ll let you know. I’ll probably not have a choice.”

Natasha nodded. “It’d be a favor to me, honestly. We all win.”

She was lying, but Steve appreciated it. A lot.

Steve went out front and hopped back into his truck. He didn’t know where to go from there, and he still had the rest of the day in front of him. Going back to his other job felt like humiliation. It would be a better idea to give Fury another day to calm down before talking to him about adding any hours (much less not firing him). But between defeat and humiliation, Steve would take humiliation any day of the week. So when he pulled out of the parking lot, he turned back towards the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility where he figured the painting crew would be in full swing. It was after lunch now and they should be back from any break.

He twisted through the back streets of the town and managed to avoid most of the slower lighters, but traffic came to a complete stop three blocks away from the job site. Steve actually put his car in park to wait. It was a full five minutes before a cop in a uniform walked up to his window and waved for him to roll it down.

“We’ve got an ambulance blocking the lane up here.” He told Steve. “You’ll have to turn around.”

Steve groaned. “Of course.”

“Sorry.” The cop just laughed and held up his hands.

So, with work not an option, Steve pulled a U-turn and headed towards the main road. With it being close enough to the end of the day he drove out to the twins’ school and pulled in to their parking lot. He pulled in to an empty space near a side entrance, intending to kill thirty minutes with his sketch book before heading inside to catch the twins before they got onto the bus.

Except for, right as he pulled in to the spot and glanced over to where the trees met the property line of the school. He watched a head of silver blonde hair dip below a bush right as he looked. A very familiar head of silver blonde hair.

“Son of a …” Steve slammed out of his car and faced the tree line. “Pietro. Get out here. Bring Wanda.”

There was no response, and then- slowly- a parting of the branches.

“Wanda is still inside.” Pietro said quietly when he get across the parking lot. He shifted on the balls of his feet guiltily. “She had a test last period today.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t?”

Pietro was smart enough not to lie about it and just looked down at the ground.

“Buddy, I need you to go to class.” Steve sighed. This was just perfect. He wondered if there was any chance the school hadn’t already notified the child protection agents about the infraction. Just considering it made his skull itch.

“I hate it.” Pietro grumbled. Steve laughed.

“I hated it too.” Steve admitted.

“I’m not stupid. ‘m not.” Pietro insisted. Steve saw the same insecurity he’d faced that he’d battled dyslexia growing up. The knowing you have the information in your head, but feeling like it was trapped there and his brain didn’t want to cooperate.

“I know you’re not.” Steve assured him. Pietro looked up at him.

“Am in trouble?” Pietro asked him quietly. Steve didn’t have it in him to hold on to the anger.

“I think….” Steve sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “I think today is a day for ice cream.”

Pietro’s whole face lit up. “With Wanda?”

“Of course.” Steve laughed. “But only if you get your butt back inside.”

Pietro made a face, but let Steve lead him back up to the front door of the school with a whispered promise to head straight to the ice cream place after he got done. Luckily, the bubbly brunette behind the front desk asked very few questions- mentioning something about ‘forgetting’ to mark down where Steve had signed him out for a ‘doctor’s appointment’- before handing him a tardy slip for last period.

A few hours later, after a trip to the ice cream parlor and a stop by the park, Steve pulled his truck up to the front of the house. He laughed at the enthusiastic cacophony that came from transporting two young children excited to be home. They were practically out of the car before Steve had even managed to unlatch his seatbelt.

“Alright, everybody inside and downstairs for homework.” Steve called. Pietro and Wanda were racing ahead and neither acknowledged what Steve had said. He chuckled to himself and followed them inside, where a trail of discarded coats, backpacks, and shoes marked the path they took from the front door. From the foyer, down the hall, side trip into the living room, and into the kitchen. Steve’s smile dropped the instant they walked in to the kitchen. Sam was standing there not just scowling but opening _glaring_ at him.

“I have been calling.” Sam said. His voice was deadly calm.

“My phone’s off.” Steve winced. It was still on airplane mode from earlier.

“Where have you been?” He asked. He was halfway through making spaghetti, stirring a pot of noodles.

“Steve took us for ice cream.” Wanda cheered happily. She and Pietro seemed not to notice the tension.

“I waited at the bus stop for almost an hour.” Sam said shortly. “I called the school.”

For an awkward minute the twins had a small snack- how they were still hungry, Steve didn’t know- and chatted amongst themselves in Sokovian. Sam and Steve were left standing there saying nothing, tension building in the room fast enough to choke Steve until he died. As soon as the twins were done eating, he cleared his throat and clapped his hands.

“Let’s get downstairs and start homework.” Steve herded them towards the door. Sam said nothing.

“You can’t just take them and not tell me.” Sam snapped at him once the door to the basement shut behind the twins. “Do you know how worried I was when they didn’t get off the bus?”

Steve winced. “I didn’t think about it; I’m sorry.”

“I’m only your roommate, but you’ve made me a second parent.” Sam accused him.

“That’s not true.”

“I wake them up for school more days than I don’t. I make their lunch. I get them from the bus stop. I make their dinner.” Sam leveled him with a look that made Steve’s insides twist uncomfortably. “I’m not calling you a bad dad- I know you love those kids- but you don’t have the life you had when you got them. Leaving the Army-“

“Was the right call.” Steve insisted. Sam nodded.

“It was. But you’ve been scrambling ever since. To make ends meet, to make sure the twins have it all.”

“I just want the best for them.” Steve sighed, rubbing his face.

They stood in the kitchen silently for a moment. Steve was stewing in his own guilt and self-hatred. He should have realized what he was doing to Sam months ago. Sam was stirring the pasta sauce slowly, focusing on that so that he didn’t have to look over at Steve. Steve recognized the tactic and knew that their conversation wasn’t just about parenting duties.

“What is it?” He asked. Sam took a deep breath and set down the stirring spoon.

“Riley asked me to move in with him.” Sam admitted. “And I told him that I couldn’t. Because of you.”

Steve’s jaw lowered. “Sam, you can’t do that. I’ll make it work.”

“I know. Our relationship is so fucked up. I haven’t told you about my boyfriend of six months because I wasn’t sure how you’d handle it.” Sam admitted, shaking his head. “And I almost screwed up that relationship, even though I love him, because I wasn’t sure you could handle _that_.”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve insisted. “Move in with him.”

Sam nodded a few times. “I already told him I would. You’re sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Of course.” Steve forced himself to sound more confident about it than he felt.

He would be. He’d find another roommate. He’d find some more time to paint and he’d get back in touch with that gallery owner that had left him a voicemail. His paintings could keep them afloat as long as he had the time to make them. That would have to be what Steve would do. Steve would just fit painting time in to his day somewhere.

Sam had gone back to stirring and not looking at him. “I’m going to be moving out on Saturday.”

“ _Saturday_.” Steve’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t find a roommate that quickly.

“That’s when Riley moves in to his new place.” Sam explained. “We’re going to move in to it together.”

“The twins will miss you.” Steve told him. Sam had lived with them ever since Steve had them.

“I was thinking we’d tell them tonight.” Sam continued. He pulled out the colander and drained the pasta before adding it in to the pot with the sauce. Nothing in his tone matched the sick feeling in Steve’s stomach. “Over my world-famous spaghetti. They both love my spaghetti.”

It would be the worst possible ending to the worst possible day.

“We’ve had such a great day today.” Steve said softly. “I didn’t really want to ruin it with bad news.”

Sam’s smile dropped slightly. “It’s not bad news, Steve. I’m really happy.”

“I’m happy for you too.” Steve corrected. It wasn’t bad news to Sam, of course. Steve was continuing to be the world’s shittiest friend. He forced a smile, clapped Sam on the shoulder, and forced himself to remove the foot from his mouth. “I’m really happy for you, man. And I’d love to meet Riley some time when he’s not hiding under your covers.”

Sam laughed. “We weren’t _hiding_ , you asshole. We were sleeping and you woke us up.”

“You got him in an out of this house without introducing him to anyone. That’s hiding.” Steve accused.

“Okay, maybe a little.” Sam laughed, paused, and then gave Steve a considering look. “We could use some help with boxes on moving day.”

Steve snorted and stole a piece of garlic bread from the bowl. “I’m busy that day.”

Sam just laughed at him. Steve went to the basement door and bounded down the stairs to where the twins were quietly doing their homework. When Steve walked in to the room, they both looked over at him with nervous expressions like they thought they were going to be in trouble. Steve gave them reassuring smiles and settled in to one of the small, child-sized chairs at their work table.

“Are we in trouble with Sam?” Pietro asked him.

“No.” Steve assured him. “We just scared him a little. He’s making spaghetti for dinner.”

“I love spaghetti.” Wanda grinned widely.

“He’s got some news for us and we’re all going to be very, very happy for him, okay?” Steve asked.

Both of the twins nodded solemnly.

“Alright.” Steve nodded with them and then smiled again. “Who needs homework help?”

Wanda looked down at her page and then up at Steve doubtfully. “I think we need Sam for this.”

“It’s long division.” Pietro explained, making a face.

\----------------------------------

Steve walked up to the job site with his hat in his hands. Fury was up on the scaffold, which Steve knew meant they were seriously understaffed. Fury hadn’t actually done the painting the entire time Steve had worked for the company. He always said he’d preferred to work behind the scenes.

“I bought the damn thing so that I didn’t have to do the work anymore, Rogers.” Fury had told him once.

And here he was with a sprayer and mask on and he’d had to ditch his standard all black uniform for a tank and khakis. All firsts for Fury, as far as Steve knew. And Steve also knew that Fury was definitely going to resent him for that. Which was proved by the string of less than polite words that left Fury’s mouth when he caught sight of Steve standing on the street looking up at him sheepishly. Fury climbed down the scaffold and over to him.

“You lasted almost a whole week before coming to grovel. I’m shocked.” He wiped sweat from his brow with a towel and scowled at Steve. “Usually it only takes you a day or two.”

Steve shrugged. “There was a weekend in there somewhere.”

“Yeah, the rest of us had to work through it to make up for lost time.” Fury snapped at him.

“I didn’t wreck the scaffold.” Steve defended.

“If it was secured properly it wouldn’t have ended up in the ally.” Fury pointed out. “Which, by the way, cost three grand to replace.”

“I’ll pay you back.” Steve insisted. He watched Fury scrutinize him for a second.

“I thought you said that you didn’t screw that up?” He asked.

“I really need this job back.” Steve admitted. Fury nodded a few times, but his expression didn’t soften even a little bit. After a second he turned away from Steve and walked towards the water cooler. Steve huffed for a second then caved. “So do I have my job back?”

“Logan fire you too?” Fury asked. Steve sighed and then nodded.

“Yeah.”

Fury waited to finish his water before responding. “For now.”

“Thank you.” Steve went to gush but Fury held up a hand.

“There are conditions.” Fury told him. Steve tried not to let the disappointment show on his face.

“Anything.” He said instead. Fury waited, thinking, before he kept going.

“You’ve got too much on your plate.” He said simply. “And it’s making you worse at what you do.”

Steve wanted to argue. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to but found the words bubbling out of his mouth faster than he could tamp them back down. “I tagged and secured that scaffold the exactly the way I’m supposed to. And I’ve not screwed up anything on this S.H.I.E.L.D. job. The schedule is fucked, but that’s not my fault. That started way before we even got here and-”

Fury sighed, ignoring him, and crossed his arms. “When I met you, this wasn’t what you wanted.”

“I want to provide for my family.” Steve told him. He shrugged.

“And when’s the last time you finished a painting?” Fury asked him. “I mean a real painting.”

Steve sighed. “I don’t know. A few months. I haven’t had the time.”

“Stark would pay stupid amounts of money for more of your work.” Fury told him. Stark had been Steve’s main customer since he’d started selling paintings after grad school. To be fair, he was only really competing with Steve’s mom, Natasha, and the local dentist. And he payed better than the other three combined. But, regardless, Steve resented it based on principle.

Fury stared at Steve as Steve continued to stew awkwardly.

“You mentioned conditions?” Steve asked.

“Paint.” Fury demanded.

“That’s literally what you pay me to do.” Steve gestured to the half painted building behind him.

“If you’re going to be a smartass I can send you back over to Logan to beg him for a job.” Fury snapped. Steve winced and shook his head. Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen. You’ve got talent. You won how many awards before you ended up on my doorstep?”

Steve fiddled with the cap in his hands awkwardly. “Not that many.”

“Plenty.” Fury snapped.

“Plenty.” Steve agreed. He’d just had the right publicity at the right time. It was more luck than talent.

“Your exhibit in Erskine’s gallery made the cover of the New York Times’ style section.” Fury reminded him. Steve sighed. He’d been seventeen. Waiting for his chance to enlist. He’d never seen painting as something he was going to pursue full time.

“Just because Tony bought out the entire place.” Steve pointed out. “The article was about him.”

Fury sighed and looked heavenward for patience. It was a move he pulled on Steve quite a bit.

“I get what you’re trying to say.”

“I don’t think you do.” Fury told him. Steve’s jaw snapped shut. Fury’s tone was never warm, but this was about as soft as it had ever gotten. “You want back on this crew, you call Tony Stark. You commit to sending him some more paintings to exhibit at the Stark Center.”

The Stark Center was a monument to one man’s ego taking over the New York skyline. Steve sighed.

“If I’m working for you full time-”

“Full time?” Fury interrupted him. “Who said anything about full time?”

Steve sighed. “I was working full time for you before. I assumed.”

“You’ll start part time. Get some work to Stark and I’ll reconsider.” Fury told him. Steve balked angrily.

“How is that a fair requirement?” Steve challenged.

“It isn’t.”

“You’re my boss. Shouldn’t you want me full time? It doesn’t make sense to force me to waste time painting something else that won’t even profit off of.” Steve pointed out. Fury just nodded a few times to himself but then he shrugged.

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” He agreed.

“So, than can I co-”

“Call it an annoyance tax.” Fury continued, talking over him. He wiped at the back his neck with a towel and moved back towards the scaffold. “Call me when you’ve gotten Stark three paintings. Then we’ll talk about full time.”

*************************************

“THAT MANIPULATIVE PIECE OF SHI-” Natasha’s voice went from booming to silent as Steve yanked her call off of speaker phone. He placed the phone to his ear- well about two inches from his ear because she was still swearing rather loudly- and ignored her as she ranted. “He has no right to control your life or force you to jump through hoops for a job.”

“Well, he owns the company.” Steve reminded her.

“Still.” Nat snapped. “He’s putting your income on the line. You don’t want to sell Tony your paintings.”

Steve rolled his eyes. She was herding him in to agreeing with Fury and thought he wouldn’t notice.

“You know I don’t have any problem with selling my paintings to Tony.” Steve reminded her. It was what she wanted him to say in the first place. “I’ve sold most of my paintings to Tony. I just haven’t had a lot of time to paint since the twins arrived. Life, you know? I fully intended to paint more.”

Natasha’s smug satisfaction was practically audible over the phone.

“You’ll work for me until you get the paintings done.” Natasha told him primly. Steve thought about it.

“I’ll have to bring the twins with me sometimes.” Steve said finally. “I can’t afford a sitter every day.”

\----------------------------------

James once spent four nights roughing it in a the deserts of Central Africa with nothing but the clothes on his back and an assortment of scopes and weapons. He’d been out of contact for a full week and didn’t have a roof over his head for four days. This was during the middle of a record breaking hot summer. Right now, in this moment, James was wondering what he had to do to get back there. Compared to his current set up, that desert was by far the preferable option.

One nurse was already checking his vitals when another one walked in. She was literally in smiley face scrubs, with a gigantic smile on her face, and a headscarf that was fluorescent pink. It was head to toe vibrant enthusiasm and James had to physically hold himself on to the bed to keep from leaping from the window to freedom.

“How are we feeling in here?” The nurse asked him. James leveled her with a glare.

“Well, _I_ am a human pincushion that’s- for some reason- not allowed solid food and she-” James gestured to the first nurse “-just had to check my stool for blood. So, not great?”

“Oh.” Smiley-nurse stopped, still smiling, eyes going wide.

“But I wouldn’t dare speak for how you’re feeling.” James told her, forcing a fake grin.

Her smile barely even faded. “So, no change?”

“No.” James confirmed.

“You’ll be able to have as many solid foods as you’d like within another 9 hours.” The nurse told him, noting some things on his chart. James glanced towards the clock on the wall, mentally tracked nine more hours, and swore because it was going to be the middle of the night. Nobody would give him solid food at three in the morning.

This hospital was going to be more painful for him than literally getting hit by a car. And that included the incredible fun stitching of his head wound and attempted recalibration of this prosthetic arm. These doctors had no idea what they were dealing with. He was going to have to have the whole thing reworked when he got back to his real life. All he needed was a moment alone, which he hadn’t gotten yet because his head injury apparently made him a high risk.

They wouldn’t let him sign himself out either. Something about AMA releases not because allowed on patients that doctors didn’t think were in their right minds. It had been one of the first questions James had asked when he got through the intake process.

“Any memories?” Smiley nurse asked him. Blessedly quiet nurse had left, which James appreciated.

“Nope.” He gave her a hapless shrug and hoped that was convincing enough.

“They’ll come back-”

“Eventually.” James completed with a nod. That’s what the doctor’s had been telling him. Made the sudden recovery he would have when the escape was ready all the more convenient. The nurse gave his shoulder a reassuring pat which James did not appreciate.

“They will, hon.” She told him. She went to leave, which James hated to delay, but he needed to.

“I did have one request.” He asked. He gestured to the TV on the wall. “Can I watch the TV? The doctor said watching it might help dislodge something.”

The nurse glanced at him skeptically. “Let me get you a remote.”

She stepped out of the room momentarily and came back in a few second later with the remote, hitting the power button as she stepped in. The TV blinked to life behind her as she turned to hand it to him. His own face stared back at him. Trying to hide his own panic, James jammed all of the buttons on the remote at once. The nurse looked at him weirdly but said nothing.

“Thanks.” He told her, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Once she left, he jammed the buttons again to try and find the channel.

“What the hell?” He whispered to himself. There was his face, again, plastered all over the daily news.

The Doctors had asked about getting his face out there, James remembered. And the police had taken his photo to show anyone that came looking for him. But he’d resisted their efforts to proactively search for people. For fairly obvious reasons that, he did understand, probably made no sense to the people that were trying to take care of him.

He just had to hope that nobody saw it.

\----------------------------------

He’d been absently looking towards the TV while helping Natasha mix dough when he saw it.

“Holy shit.” Steve whispered at the screen, dumbfounded. “That’s him. That’s the guy from work last week. Who busted up the scaffold.”

Natasha looked over at the TV and let out an appreciative whisper. “Oh, yeah. He looks awful.”

Steve felt a little nauseous just looking at him. He didn’t even notice what the asshole’s face was doing on the screen. Biggest Asshole in the World Award? Man Who Kicked the Most Puppies? Did the rest of humanity recognize his douche-baggery and vote him off the planet? Surely Elon Musk could afford a few million to build a rocket to send him in to the depths of space. They could ride in it together for all that Steve cared.

“He doesn’t look that bad.” Clint called from his booth. Steve and Natasha both glared at him.

“Thanks for your support.” Steve drawled. Clint threw him a thumbs up and took another bite of pizza.

“I just feel kinda bad for the guy.” Clint shrugged.

Natasha tossed a bit of dough at him from where they were working in the kitchen.

“What?” Clint caught it and tossed it in to his mouth. “He’s in some hospital or something. It’s sad.”

Steve glanced back towards the TV. “What?”

“The Police found him in the park near downtown. Can’t remember a thing. Haven’t you guys been watching?” Clint ate some more of his pizza. Natasha wiped her hand on a towel so that she could use her hands to turn up the TV. It was some news channel with some middle aged brunette news anchor that smiled too widely for it to look natural.

“Just…sitting there?” Steve asked.

“Dude, I don’t know.” Clint snorted. “Watch the TV.”

Apparently, he had just been sitting there. Drunk. Steve wasn’t surprised by that detail. Completely without clothes. Also not surprising to Steve given the way he’d paraded about that balcony in small bathing shorts and practically nothing else. He’d gotten rid of the towel quickly enough.

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer person.” Steve drawled. He went back to spreading the dough for the pizza.

“Aren’t you supposed to be, like, the kindest person?” Natasha asked.

“He was when we met him.” Clint agreed, nodding.

“What does that say about the two of you?” Steve asked him. Natasha laughed. “That included you.”

Natasha shrugged. “I kind of like being the horrible influence on your life.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the horrible influence on _my_ life?” Clint asked her. Natasha barely paused in kneading the dough long enough to level with him a look.

“You were already ruined when I found you.” She told him.

Steve was still watching the TV. It was easier than dwelling on the absolute shittiness of his last forty-eight to seventy-two hours. That was frustration he could take out on the dough while pretending it was the face of the man who got him fired from his steadiest gig for two days. And his second steadiest gig permanently. He punched the dough maybe a little too hard and felt his knuckles slam in to the stainless steel counter underneath.

The man had cost him his job. It had gotten him in trouble with Child Protective Services. And he wasn’t even going to have to pay for the scaffold that he’d ruined, Steve was. He wasn’t having to pay for anything. He was sitting in a hospital getting taken care of and resting from his oh-so-stressful Rich Asshole™ lifestyle.

His knuckles hit the counter again. He swore and stepped back. Clint and Natasha were staring.

“It’s not fair.” Steve whined, rubbing his knuckles. “These rich assholes don’t have to pay for anything.”

Clint pointed to the TV. “He has amnesia.”

“And that makes him not rich? Not an asshole? I doubt if I walked down there and demanded he pay me back I’d see a single penny.” Steve pointed out, scowling. It wasn’t fair. “This is probably the closest he’s ever come to facing actual consequences.”

“But you’re mad that he’s not facing _your_ consequences?” Natasha asked, crossing his arms.

“Is that wrong?” Steve asked her. She smirked.

“If I were you, I’d tack on pain and suffering.” She told him. Steve nodded.

“Oh, I am. A ton.” Steve nodded emphatically. He gestured widely. While trying to think of more words. “There’s going to be tons of pain and suffering.”

“You just said he wouldn’t pay you a cent.” Clint reminded him. Steve deflated slightly.

“Who cares about money?” Natasha asked. She grabbed the tray of finished dough and turned.

“Um.” Steve raised a hand. “I do?”

Clint laughed but Natasha just rolled her eyes. There was a pause while she set the huge tray in with the others in the refrigerator. When she came back out, wiping her hands on her apron, she was smirking at them both. Steve knew her well enough to know that it meant trouble.

“You’re being short-sighted.” She told them. “Think about it? You want a couple grand? He could pay that for breakfast and forget about it by brunch. What’s that going to do? No, what you need to do is sink to their level. Play the game by their rules. Take shameless advantage of the situation.”

Steve didn’t say no immediately. “And do what?”

Instead of answering, Natasha turned to Clint. “Can you still forge documents?”

“I am _retired_ from the government life, and the criminal life. I am a law abiding American citizen now.” Clint was shaking his head emphatically while his wife just stared at him. Finally, he sighed and wiped pizza grease from his hands with a napkin. “State or Federal?”

Natasha cheered. “Sam’s moved out, right?”

“Right.” Steve nodded. He didn’t see where she was going with this.

“So you could use some help around the house?” She continued. Steve nodded.

“I could.” He agreed.

“And I could use some extra hands here.” Natasha gestured to her shop. “As soon as you start working for Fury again.”

Steve nodded. “You’ve lost me.”

“All we need is a few documents. Some old family photos. Some of Clint’s old clothes.” Clint started to argue but Natasha had already turned away and ignored him. She tapped a finger to her chin, considering. “We can tell the twins it’s a make believe game. They’ll love it.”

“They will?” Steve asked.

“Wanda’s like me. She’ll think it’s hilarious.” Natasha waved a dismissive hand.

“She’ll think _what_ is hilarious?” Steve questioned. Natasha stopped, smirking at him.

“I have an idea. And you’re going to hate it-” He went to protest that if he hated it then it couldn’t be that good of an idea but she shushed him and kept going. “But you’re wrong because the justice is…poetic…in its own way.”

Steve just stared at her. “You terrify me when you get that look in your eye.”

“Yeah, that’s the same look she had in her eye when she told me we were getting married.” Clint told him. But he didn’t look nearly as worried by it as Steve did. He winked at his wife, making her laugh but making Steve even more unsure.

She went to get more ingredients from the back for the next batch of dough and Steve looked over at Clint. He was back to watching the TV and eating another slice of pizza. The news had changed to a segment about the county fair and Steve scratched the back of his head.

“This is going to be a horrible idea.” Steve said. Mostly to the air, but Clint was still right there.

“Well, yeah.” He agreed. But then he shrugged. “But you know you’re going to go along with it.”

\----------------------------------

“I can’t do this.” He told Natasha. She was helping him fix his hair, which was apparently a mess, but Steve didn’t appreciate it. He tried to swat her hands away but she just rolled her eyes at him and said something rude in Russian.

“You can and you will.” She said firmly.

“It’s all here.” Clint told him, handing him the file. “You just need to walk in, introduce yourself, and let the evidence do the rest of the talking.”

Steve was skeptical. “I feel like they’re going to want to get a few more answers.”

“So make some up.”

“I’m not a good liar.” Steve tried to tell them. But Natasha, who’d been there the day Steve talked his way out of getting arrested during a protest, just leveled him with a look.

“Is this man awful?” She asked him. Steve sighed.

“He is.”

“And do you need the extra money and help around the house?” She asked.

“Just until I sell a few of my paintings.” He admitted. It was embarrassing to have to say it out loud. That he didn’t have what he needed to support the kids- not the way he wanted to- without help. He wanted the best for them.

“He deserves this.” Natasha reminded him. “Just remember almost getting decapitated by a champagne bottle whenever you start to doubt yourself.”

He tried it. It did help. “Thanks.”

They left his little bedroom and went downstairs to where the twins were sitting calmly in front of the TV, having a quiet discussion in Sokovian that Steve could only half understand. When they noticed him coming down the stairs, they smiled and Wanda switched over to English.

“You remember the game?” Natasha asked her. Wanda nodded.

“We’re looking forward to Papa coming home.” She said enthusiastically. Steve was both impressed and very, very worried by how well she managed it. “We were thinking about making him a sign.”

Natasha smirked. “I’ll get out the paint.”

“We call him Papa and you, what?” Pietro questioned. He hadn’t moved from the couch.

“You can’t both be Papa.” Wanda admitted with a nod. “I hadn’t thought about that. Isn’t that weird?”

Natasha shrugged. “I didn’t get raised by parents, so I can’t tell you how that works.”

“Maybe we can call him ‘dad’, then.” Pietro considered. He’d added a heavy American accent on it.

Wanda crinkled her nose and laughed. “ _Dad._ It sounds so much more American.”

“Perfect.” Pietro nodded smirking.

Steve had just sat there watching the whole exchange. It wasn’t until all three finally relocated to the dining table that Wanda addressed him directly. She hurried over and gave him a small hug. “Natasha said that he was sick? And we’re also helping him? So, you don’t need to feel bad.”

“It’s still bad.” Steve corrected her. He knelt and gave her a hug. “But thank you for trying.”

Wanda hugged him back. It was a move they were slowly forcing to feel less foreign to them both. He stood and gestured for Natasha to follow him outside. Clint moved in to help with the painting in her absence.

“Tell me I’m not a horrible person.” He requested.

“You’re not a horrible person.” Natasha said immediately. “You’re a desperate person.”

Steve didn’t think he liked that much better.

“Listen.” Natasha sighed. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. But it’s not like you’re going to abuse the poor guy. He’s going to sling pizzas and babysit to pay you back for the cost of your lost job and damaged scaffold. All the while getting to be a part of your little family in there. There are worse punishments to face.”

Steve nodded to himself and rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re right.”

“I know.” She smirked and turned back towards the house. “Now go get your man, Rogers.”

\----------------------------------

When the nurse walked in with James’s visitor, he didn’t even have to fake his amnesia. Because he’d literally never seen the man before in his life. And he had the type of face that James tended to remember. Also the shoulders, which was only mildly beside the point. The point being that James did not know him. Like, not even in a ‘we-spent-one-amazing-night-together-after-a-night-of-heavy-drinking’ level know him. But that didn’t stop the blonde man from gasping like an overly dramatic teenager and pulling James into a tight hug.

“This is him,” the man told the nurse, his eyes welling with overdramatic tears. The nurse actually held a hand to her chest she was so touched. James gaped at them both. “This is my husband.”

James could practically watch his carefully constructed plan crumble around him. The other man was smiling so sincerely. Still, he tried. “I don’t know him.”

“It’s okay, honey,” the nurse cooed at him. “We know you don’t remember.”

James shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

“It’s amnesia. The memories will come back. He’s given us a lot of pictures and documents. He’s your husband, honey. We don’t release our patients to just anyone.” She was smiling at him just wide enough to tell him she wasn’t sorry to see him go, though.

“But I don’t know him.” Bucky protested.

“I’m your husband.” The man insisted. “Steve? We’ve been together since we were kids.”

The nurse made a cooing sound. “How romantic.”

“We were neighbors. I don’t remember a time in my life he wasn’t in it.” Steve told her. She melted even more as Steve rattled off a history that was clearly rehearsed and totally fabricated. They had their first kiss a state fair, apparently, and James proposed to Steve the same fair when they were both out of college and the military, respectively.

James had a moment to just gape at him in absolute shock as he rambled on. He looked genuinely _shaken_ to see James. The tears in his eyes looked genuine. If James actually had forgotten who he was, he definitely would have believed the truth was somewhere in those gorgeous blue eyes. He was beaming down at James, leaving James feeling absolutely idiotic in his robe and pajamas.

The nurse continued going around the room, tidying things and talking to the man- who she called Mr. Rogers, who told James his named was Steve- about the process for discharge. James considered briefly that this was an agent from whoever was trying to kill him. It was possible. He held the pen he’d stolen earlier tightly in his grasp. But when the nurse turned her back, _‘Steve’_ didn’t strike. He smiled at James even wider and gave his other hand a reassuring squeeze. James didn’t know how to react, so he stood there dumbly and waited for something intelligent to come out of his mouth.

“Hi.”

That wasn’t it.

“Husband?” He managed.

Also not a shining moment for him.

“Hi.” He grinned down at James. “And, yes.”

No. NO, HE WASN’T. James was bordering on frantic because the nurse was handing the blonde man paperwork and talking about them leaving, which was not the plan at all. Absolutely the opposite of the plan. The plan was to stay here. In the hospital. With the camera. Where it was safe. The panic must have shown on his face because it earned his hand another reassuring squeeze.

“I know it’s a lot to take in.” He whispered to James. “But we’ll figure it out.”

Which would be sweet if this was not the man currently kidnapping him out of a mental hospital.

“I don’t know him.” He whispered to the nurse for what felt like the millionth time.

“It’s okay, Honey.” She glanced at James’s husband sympathetically. The nurse handed the signed papers to Steve, but smiled at James. Her eyes kept sliding back to his faux-husband. Clearly, she’d decided who was right in this scenario- which James almost didn’t blame her for since James had played up the whole brain damage thing and maybe not been the best guest- and was going to leave James to fend for himself.

“Don’t you think I need a few more days?” He tried. “For recovery?”

Her smile stayed securely in place, as fake as it was. “You’ll be fine.”

“It will take some time, but the memories will come back eventually.” The nurse told them.

“I brought pictures.” Steve offered a folder awkward. “Um. Pictures. Documents. Things. For proof.”

The nurse cooed over an obviously photoshopped picture of James and Steve’s “wedding” in Las Vegas. The marriage certificate, he mused, was actually a decently passable forgery. Even he was impressed by the quality of the birth certificate they’d managed to put together. For one James Buchanan. Whoever the fuck that was.

He expected the nurse to laugh of the mockery of a honeymoon picture- James didn’t know how exactly she managed to miss that it was literally the same exact picture of his face used for each and every picture. Literally the same one. Two of the photos even had the same fake body- same pose, some clothes, same hairstyle- despite claiming they were taken a year apart.

“I’m sorry we don’t have more photos.” Steve was explaining to the nurse. “There was a fire.”

The nurse clicked her tongue sympathetically. “These are just fine, honey.”

Clearly, she had some place to be. She all but shoved them both out the hospital room herself. James wanted to fight with her. Hoop and holler and scream about being a crazy man that this _other_ crazy man shouldn’t be allowed to take anywhere for any reason whatsoever. But the moment they stepped out into the hallway, they could see the nurse’s station. And, more specifically, the two men standing at the nurse’s station wearing outfits that had to be straight out of the Assassins Monthly magazine. Straight up leather jackets, black slacks, dark sunglasses, and ponytails. James was pretty sure one of them was sporting a bruise- compliments of him- from the fight on the fucking scaffold.

The _fucking_ scaffold. His new husband was the fucking scaffold guy.

James didn’t think now was the time to apologize for the champagne incident.

Maybe he should be more curious about _why_ this man was claiming to be his husband but, honestly, knowing that he was just the scaffold guy and not one of the men trying to kill him (he was reasonably sure, at least) meant that he was suddenly James’s new best friend. And out of the hospital was definitely better than in, given the two goons at the counter. The quicker they got out of there the better.

“So we’re going home?” James asked Steve, turning to make sure his back was to the two guests.

“Are you okay with that?” Steve asked him. His eyebrow raised almost tentatively. He was nervous about this too, then. It was cute. Cuter than James was going ever admit to another person. James looked away and at the floor to hide the smile that threatened to break across his face.

“Um. As long as you remember where it is.” James told him, smiling quietly.

“I do.” Steve assured him.

“That makes one of us.” James snorted derisively. Steve frowned slightly and said nothing.

“It’ll come back, Bucky.” Steve promised. James stopped dead on the sidewalk.

“I’m sorry, _what_ did you just call me?” He challenged.

Bucky.

No. _No_.

There were lines that he just wouldn’t be able to cross. Even under the guise of amnesia.

“Bucky? It’s what you’ve gone by for as long as I’ve known you.” Steve seemed amused by the confusion. And of course he would, James realized, because he was the one who made up the name in the first place. This was a massive joke to him. Payback for launching bottles of champagne at the scaffold he’d been trying to put up.

What kind of person _did that_? The stupid nickname, he meant.

“Everything ok?” Steve asked him.

No. No, Steve, everything was most definitely not ok.

“Do you really think I look like a Bucky?” He asked, wrinkling his nose.

“I guess it’s hard to see you as anything but.” Steve shrugged, turning back to continue towards his car. His face was impressively straight. Not a hint of laughter or utter betrayal, which James would expect. James stared after him for a minute before caving and chasing after him.

“Bucky?” He asked again. He could tell his voice was a whine. This time Steve did laugh.

“Bucky.” Steve confirmed with a nod.

They walked to his car- which wasn’t a work truck but an infinitesimal little hybrid thing Bucky didn’t even know the name of- that James had to fold himself inside of in order to fit in. Steve was even bigger than him and looking positively _comical_ climbing into it. The folder with photos in it ended up in James’ lap. He pulled one out but his mind wandered.

For some reason staring at this ridiculously photoshopped picture of a garish Vegas wedding chapel, James was hit with enormity of the fact that somebody was trying to kill him. Somebody was trying to kill him and somebody else had kidnapped him by pretending to be his husband. The first part was definitely his more pressing concern at the moment.

If the goons in the hospital had been any indication, they weren’t taking ‘try’ as a final answer.

Whoever it was _knew_ they had that sting going on.

But they didn’t know where James was going to be taking position for the take down.

And while they knew to take out the support team inside, the aerial unit wasn’t touched.

It was just enough inside information that James wasn’t able to rule out someone on the team.

In his mind, something that glinted like the silver stripes on their uniforms flashed in front of his face as he fell with the scaffold. It wasn’t for sure Strike Team, but was that a chance he was willing to take with his life?

\----------------------------------

Steve’s hands were hot and sweaty on the steering wheel the entire drive back to the house. The kids were there with Natasha waiting for them both. He couldn’t believe this was working. He couldn’t believe they’d actually take this man from his hospital bed with nothing more than a few scraps of paper and some photoshopped pictures.

If he wouldn’t have been immediately arrested, Steve would have been tempted to shame the entire hospital staff.

But then they’d gotten outside. Into the car. Nobody came chasing outside to stop them, realizing the grievous mistake that they’d made allowing Steve to take him from their care. And now they were halfway back to the house. And now James sat in the passenger seat flipping through the photos Clint had photoshopped for them for the millionth time.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked. James was staring at their wedding photo intensely.

“I guess it’s just weird. Not remembering.”

He looked so disturbed that Steve felt genuinely sorry for him. Losing that much memory couldn’t be easy. And then to be presented with something fake. The guilt settled in to his stomach like a stone.

_Remember the champagne bottles._ Steve reminded himself. _Remember the other day._

Hard work might actually do the jerk some real good. Maybe. Steve was willing to make him try.

“I promise to help you remember.” Steve promised him. And he meant it. As soon as he was able to get his life in order and this stupid job behind him, Steve would help him as best as he could. Steve would dedicate all of his spare time to the cause of Helping James Whatever-the-Fuck-His-Name-Was the Third Remember How to Be a Bastard. As much as the world would be better off without him, Steve would owe him that much.

“Yeah.” James nodded. He wasn’t looking away from the photo. “Doctor said a couple months.”

Steve offered him a grin. “We can do better than that.”

The job wouldn’t be more than two. Three tops.

They got another five minutes down the road, Steve was now half watching the road, half watching the way James was staring the wedding photo. Still. Had he noticed that they were fakes? Clint hadn’t had a lot of time. Maybe some detail was off and he’d noticed it. Maybe his memories were coming back for real at the sight of something so obviously Not Real.

“You seem pretty fixated on that photo.” Steve pointed out to him. It seemed to startle James.

“Yeah.” He said quietly. “Yeah, sorry.”

Steve glanced back and forth between him and the road. “Something specific you’re looking for.”

“Just looking for something familiar, I guess.” He said quietly.

The rest of the ride was silent. His new husband was staring at their wedding photo- the one Steve faked, for the people at home who forgot that fact. Steve was trying to forget that fact himself to try and lessen the knot of guilt in his stomach.

When a week or two had passed, he’d drop a line through the usual channels to Rumlow. For all his shit, Rumlow was someone that James knew that he could trust. Together, Rumlow and James would be able to track down the leak. Fix this.

And then they’d finally get Ivan Abramovich. Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  James in the Hot Tub  
>   
> James in the Hospital Bed  
>   
> James on the Way Home From the Hospital


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end of the chapter for art by ValecitaDraws and AngstAssArt!

James almost ditched out of the still moving car when he spotted the trike in the front yard. A trike. A hot pink, clearly child’s, trike.

He didn’t want to judge Steve for bringing a stranger- one that he’d maybe spoken to once- into a home that also had kids that were presumably his. How could Steve know that James wasn’t a sociopathic killer? I mean, their first interaction was James lobbing champagne bottles at his head. Not exactly the behavior of a stable man.

“We live here?” He asked. James didn’t see the humor in his statement, but Steve laughed.

“We do.” Steve nodded. “For the past five years.”

That stopped James in his tracks again. “Five _years_?”

“Sure have.” Steve nodded again. James wanted to argue. He felt like he got hives if he lived anywhere for longer than a two year duty station. He hadn’t lived in any place for longer than two years. He’d even transferred schools in college to get to a new city. Clearly the idea of him ever living in this personification of boredom for longer than a few weeks was a joke. Hilarious.

Steve pulled into the driveway and climbed out. James didn’t move. He was hesitant to go any further. There were children in this house. Kids were involved. But then Steve glanced over his shoulder at him and James was stuck. He had nowhere else to go. And, frankly, there were worse views than the back of his new husband.

It was only going to be a few days. Just until Rumlow and Pierce rescued him.

“You coming?” Steve called back to him. James realized he hadn’t actually taken any steps forward.

“Yeah.” He nodded, playing his hesitation into a chance to survey the neighborhood.

“Anything jogging your memory?” Steve asked him. James had to stop a snort. They were both well aware that nothing in this neighborhood was going to be familiar to him. Instead, he shrugged noncommittally.

The neighborhood was practically picturesque. White Cape Cod style homes with well-manicured lawns and literal white picket fences. It was straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting. James had never been more bored by a streetscape in his entire life. Like, if a yawn could be interpreted as suburban community street, this would be what it looked like. He glanced back towards Steve, who looked anything but boring, and couldn’t shake the discrepancy. He looked out of place.

Steve disappeared through the front door, leaving James standing in the front yard like a dope. He gave the hot pink trike one last scathing glare before climbing the front porch step to follow his husband inside to meet his children. It was only going to be a couple of days of pretend, he reminded himself. He just needed to last long enough to get word to Pierce or Rumlow.

He could survive a week or two of “domestic bliss” until they managed to rescue him. How bad could this life be? What’s the worst he’d have to handle? Soccer car pool? A PTA meeting or two? That was nothing to him.

\------------------------------

Even Steve had to stop short when he stepped through the door. The kids and Natasha were sitting innocently at the dining room table, but that wasn’t what had stopped him. They’d made a banner. And signs. Wanda was in her puffy party dress. Natasha’s grin looked dangerous.

“I said low key. Low. Key.” He hissed quietly. Steve glanced over his shoulder to make sure James hadn’t walked in yet. If he hadn’t been tipped off before, he was going to be now.

“You wanted it to be believable.” Natasha told him with a shrug. Steve just gaped.

“Daddy!” There was a cheer from the table and two little bullets shot past him towards the front door.

“Uh.” James- Bucky, Steve reminded himself- was standing there with an expression of barely contained panic on his face with two tiny human attachments around his waist. Steve almost took pity on him, because the entirety of his body language screamed that he was entirely unprepared for this situation. “This might be a stupid question, but are these ours?”

Because he could be a cruel man, Steve just let himself look shocked. “You don’t remember.”

“No?” Bucky just shook his head.

“Daddy doesn’t remember us?” Wanda’s voice was more vulnerable than he’d ever heard it, even when he’d found her and Pietro at an embassy in Europe. Steve had the dreadful realization that this was a small glimpse of what her teenage years were going to bring him.

“This is Wanda.” Steve told Bucky softly. “And Pietro. Our children. We adopted them from Sokovia.”

Bucky’s face softened as he looked down at the kids. “ох, па ми смо породица?1”

Both children blinked up at him. Pietro looked tempted to say something, he was looking back and forth between Steve and Bucky so quickly. It was such a weirdly emotional moment that Steve needed it to stop. This man was here because he was a horrible person. Not to bond with his kids.

Steve laughed. “Wanda. Pietro. Give Dad room to breathe. We can all hug him later.”

They detached and ran back to rejoin Natasha at the dining room table.

“Welcome home, Buck.” Natasha told him. From her expression, Steve would have never guessed she was anything short of extremely touched to see him home safely. “How are you feeling?”

“Wasn’t it Bucky?” He asked. Steve didn’t miss the amused glint to Natasha’s face. She was more than a little proud of the name, which had been her own idea. But when she turned back to Bucky, her face was the mask of innocence.

“I call you Buck.” She said with a shrug. He made a face. She shrugged again. Steve stifled a laugh.

“I’m adjusting.” Bucky admitted. He looked down at his hands. “It’s a lot to take in all at once.”

She didn’t even falter at his self-pitying sigh, which was a feat. “So when do you think you’ll be back?”

“Back where?” He asked.

“To work. At the shop. Hello? We’ve missed you.” Natasha was laughing and Steve could practically watch dots connect in Bucky’s mind. That he had a job and it was with her and that’s how they knew her. There was another pang of guilt over taking advantage of the misfortune of someone else- even someone like Bucky who had some bad luck coming his way.

“Stop it.” He mouthed at her. Her smirk morphed in to a full smile.

“The shop?” He asked.

“My restaurant. Stanley’s.” Natasha told him. And, just like every time the shop came up in conversation, the pride of it caused her to sit a little straighter. Steve smiled right along with her.

“I work?” Bucky asked. And the guilt from the moment before dissipated. Steve sighed.

“We’re not rich.” He told Bucky, trying to keep his voice from betraying his temper.

“But at a _pizza joint_?” Bucky pressed. Clearly he wasn’t reading the room. Steve and Nat both glared.

“No need to sound so horrified.” Natasha huffed. She rose. The twins, who were coloring quietly, said something to her in Sokovian that she responded to gently. Then, with one sharp look over at Bucky, she was gone. Leaving their little family all alone.

“I work at a pizza shop?” Bucky asked again, this time facing Steve with his disbelief.

“Yeah.” Steve said shortly. This was where the payback came in to play, he reminded himself.

“For how long?” He asked. Steve shrugged.

“Since she opened it really.” He told him. Bucky smiled.

“So, I’m like a part-owner?” He asked. Steve laughed at him and gave his shoulder a reassuring pat.

“We don’t have that kind of money. You work in the kitchen. And as a delivery driver sometimes when we need the extra money. It’s mindless, boring work but it’s the best you’ve been able to find without a college degree.” Steve told him, clicking his tongue. “But we’ve talked about it and as soon as we get the twins through school, you’re going to go back. We’ve all agreed.”

Bucky turned towards the twins. “They’re ten.”

“Nine.” Wanda corrected softly.

“Right.” Bucky was just staring at her intently. “Nine.”

Steve could tell he was spiraling. “I know it’s a lot to all take in.”

“I’m uneducated, poor, working at a pizza joint, with you and two kids in the middle of nowhere Virginia.” Bucky nodded to himself a few times and Steve just let him work through it. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“You alright?” He asked. Bucky was nodding too much now. He hadn’t stopped.

“Do we have any beer?” He asked.

Okay, Steve was the horrible man who brought weird men to live with him and his children, yes. But he had limits. And one of them was little said weird men get drunk around his kids.

“Oh.” He winced and made a sympathetic face. “We do. But you don’t drink. Do you really not remember that at all?”

Bucky’s face fell. “I don’t drink?”

“You’d been sober three years before the other night.” Steve told him, nodding solemnly.

“I’m sober?” Bucky asked him, raising his eyebrows.

“You were.” Steve really felt bad, he did. He also was fighting the urge to laugh. This guy was _buying it_ all. From the very start. He should not be finding this as much fun as he was. Bucky swallowed.

“Where’s the bathroom?” He asked suddenly. Steve pointed over his shoulder and Bucky practically took off at a sprint to get behind the closed door.

\------------------------------

As soon as the door to the bathroom shut behind him, James had to stifle his laughter into his hands. It wasn’t actually funny- not all the way- but honestly if he didn’t laugh he was going to cry. They wanted him to work in a pizza restaurant. And not drink beer. And babysit two very adorable, but honestly also very clearly emotionally vulnerable kids. Their faces when he’d spouted some rudimentary Sokovian had been priceless.

He’d clearly offended Steve’s friend though. His boss, apparently. James winced at the thought of actually working for the woman.

There was obviously no way that was ever going to happen.

There was a knock on the door followed by Steve’s voice. “You okay in there?”

“I’m fine.” James managed. But his voice sounded strangled from trying not to laugh too loudly.

This man, as attractive as he was, was absolutely insane. There was no way that James could stay here. At all. Even with the strange people trying to kill him, James was probably better off fending for himself on the street. He’d done it before.

The bathroom was a tiny half bath. A small sink and toilet with a door opening in to the small space between them. But there was a window on the wall, about waist height, that was big enough for him to fit through if he squeezed. The idea popped in to his head in one minute and he was crawling out the window the next. It wasn’t as close to the ground as he thought it was so James was left dangling awkwardly while his feet groped blindly for the ground.

Once he found the ground, he tumbled the rest of the way out of the window. James groaned as the injuries from the other night protested angrily. That was a complication he hadn’t foreseen. He limped his way into a run and headed for the street. When he finally got to it, he froze. He had no idea where he was. He’d reconned the downtown area near the operation, but nothing out this far into Disturbia. He was lost. James tried to gauge the traffic, looking left and right to see if one side looked busier than the other but they were both dead.

“Honey.” James spun at the sound of Steve’s voice. “Are you okay?”

James nodded a few times before finding any words to respond with. “I was going to go to the store.”

“The store?” Steve questioned.

“I couldn’t remember where it was.” James excused with a shrug.

“What did you need from the store though?” Steve asked. He seemed to be trying to follow some form of logic, which of course James hadn’t been. He realized that now. It was a window for escape and he had literally leapt through it.

“Toilet paper?” He tried. He saw Steve’s face almost crack in to a smile, but it didn’t.

“We keep it on the bottom shelf of the linen closet.” Steve said calmly. “We have plenty.”

James just stood there dumbly. “Oh.”

“Want to come back inside?” Steve asked him. After a further moment of floundering, James caved. He just nodded and walked back towards the front of the house slowly. When he got there he saw both of the kids skidding behind Steve’s legs.

“Papa.” The little girl whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Is Dad okay?”

Steve just gave him a considering look before turning to smile at his daughter. “He’s fine, Wanda. Just confused. Let’s get our homework done. It’s getting late.”

James held back a grin. She was an absolute natural actress. He was almost proud of her for it.

\------------------------------

“He seems really cool, I guess.” Pietro whispered to him. Steve smiled at him and continued tucking him in to bed. Coming from Pietro- unprompted, no less- was the equivalent of glowing praise. It didn’t help the growing sense of unease in his stomach, but the evening had passed without issue. At least, after the escape attempt.

Not that he’d gotten very far.

‘Going to buy toilet paper’. Steve laughed to himself just remembering it.

Steve turned towards the other tiny bed in the room where Wanda was waiting for him. Another year or two and Steve would have to find a way to afford this house without a roommate, but for now the twins had to (and preferred to) share the room directly across the hall from Steve’s.

“He’s going to stay for a while, right?” Wanda asked.

“He is.” Steve agreed.

“I like him.” She said simply. “Good.”

And with that she rolled over and reached to turn her own light off. It was a boundary that she’d held on to for some reason. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, as long as she was the one that decided when the light turned off. Steve was inclined to let her have it.

He stood from the bed and gently shut the door to the bedroom closed behind him. And then he almost immediately bowled into Bucky. Steve jerked backwards and almost fell into the closed door to the twins’ bedroom. Bucky was leaning against the door frame casually, smirking at him as if he didn’t have a serious brain injury and no memories.

“Um.” Steve was already blushing. “Can I help you?”

Bucky just waggled his eyebrows at Steve suggestively. “It’s bed time right?”

“We’re going to sleep.” Steve nodded. He didn’t really like the direction this conversation was heading. Thinking quickly he gave Bucky a wide grin and a reassuring pat. “Only 27 more days on the couch.”

He watched Bucky’s whole demeanor shift from suggestive to offended. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You’re on the couch, Mister.” Steve told him.

“Do we not? Are we not?” Bucky gestured between them vaguely, looking horrified. “Do we have sex?”

Steve just shrugged. “We have plenty of sex.”

“Great news.” Bucky cheered. He reached for Steve, managing to get one rough hand wrapped around Steve’s waist before Steve managed to disentangle himself. Bucky whined. “What’s this for?”

Steve shrugged, thankful for  the plan. “They’re your rules, not mine.”

Bucky looked confused again. Steve removed his hand and Bucky didn’t fight too hard to keep it there. In his confusion he just pouted in Steve’s direction and waited for Steve to explain. When it became clear that Steve wasn’t going to, Bucky’s pout worsened as he caved. His voice, when he started asking, was petulant. “What rules, Steve?”

“No sharing a bed until you’re 30 days sober.” Steve told him with a shrug. “It was for motivation.”

\------------------------------

NO SEX FOR THIRTY DAYS?!

It wasn’t like James had been planning to actually have sex with the man. He was attractive, but something about kidnapping James from the mental hospital had really made a relationship unviable. Plus, James didn’t really believe in have sex on an op. Mainly it had been a test to see if Steve was trying to have sex with him. An unlikely scenario but, honestly, some people were freaks like that.

The whole time Steve showed him where he’d be sleeping- a cot out in the _garage_ of all place- James had been barely listening to him speak. Something about the door locking automatically? James hadn’t ever met a lock he couldn’t pick in under a minute. His more pressing concern was figuring out Steve’s motivation. He didn’t want to kill him. He didn’t want to have sex with him. Mostly it looked like he just wanted someone to play house with? There hadn’t really been anything else they needed him for around here.

“You following me?” Steve asked him. James just nodded silently. He had enough excuses to be somewhat sullen and quiet. Especially if you added the pensive sigh, which James did.

“Yeah, it’s all good.” James looked down at his cot, which was anything but ‘good’, and nodded more.

“You’ll get this back under control. 27 more days.” Steve smiled at him.

“Yeah.” James nodded.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” Steve asked him. “Nat wanted to know if you were going to be at work.”

James felt like a bobble-head doll he was nodding so much. “I think I can manage it. I’ll call her myself. Do I have a cell phone? I don’t remember.”

“You hate them.” Steve told him with a rueful smile. He was _almost_ a good liar. So close. But awful.

“I hate cell phones?” James asked him. “I don’t think I hate them.”

Steve just smiled. “Maybe another thing you’ve forgotten. It’ll come back to you.”

So he didn’t trust James to have a cell phone. Interesting. He nodded to himself, realized he’d been nodding for several minutes straight, and forced his head to remain still. Immediately, his knee started bobbing up and down. He swore internally and rose from the cot to start pacing his little garage room. Steve was watching him with a nervous expression that wasn’t entirely unwarranted.

“I’m just adjusting.” James promised him. And it wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t a lie.

“I know it’s a lot to take in.” Steve told him. He stepped towards James and hugged him tightly.

“Thanks.” James said stiffly. He hated hugs. It was all he could do not to shove himself out of it.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Steve told him, finally let him go.

“See you tomorrow.” James said, feeling a little cold now that he wasn’t engulfed in the heat. That’s what made him shiver. He settled back on to the couch while Steve stepped towards the door back in to the rest of the house.

“I’m right upstairs if you need anything.” Steve told him with a nod.

“Good to know.” James said quietly.

“Directly above the garage.” Steve said pointedly. James smiled to himself and laughed at the serious expression on Steve’s face. He knew what it was for, but Steve couldn’t think that was a normal way to talk to his husband? James had to give him some lessons.

“I’ll throw things at the ceiling if I need anything.” James teased. Steve laughed with him and left.

When the door shut behind him, James immediately started exploring. The garage was technically big enough for two cars, but half had been converted in to James’ makeshift apartment. The other half was blocked by a series of shelves stacked with boxes that James couldn’t see through. And they weren’t labeled so he couldn’t see precisely what they were, but they looked boring.

The end closest to the house had been converted into some kind of work space. There were incandescent lightbulbs and a set up for someone to paint. A large sturdy wooden table was wedged in to the corner. The wall above it was covered by dozens of pictures of anything from smiles to landscapes to one very memorable (but hilarious) bare black ass. The table itself was piled high with papers and canvases and sketchbooks. James rifled through them absently before moving down to the trashcan. People’s best secrets always ended up in the trashcan. Right on top was a piece of paper torn in to about five hundred pieces- which spoke more to the state of mind of the person ripping it up than the contents of the paper itself.

He didn’t need to get much further than the words ‘Lease’ and ‘Terminate’ before he realized it had been a notice of termination of a lease. Someone had moved out. He glanced up towards the wall of photos and saw a lot of reoccurring faces. One in particular had made the wall with regularity but hadn’t been mentioned even once since James had been picked up. The black man with a wide smile that the twins seemed to love. The owner of the bare ass, James assumed.

Oh. Naked photo. Close to the kids. Close to Steve.

_Oh._

Steve’s ex, James assumed. He winced and threw all of the pages back in to the trashcan. So, what? Steve got dumped or something and wanted another partner? James stood back up and faced the table. It didn’t feel right. Steve didn’t feel codependent enough to be that desperate for a husband in the house. Desperate, sure. But not that kind of desperate.

The paintings on the table were good. Excellent. James whistled to himself as he studied them. He didn’t know good art from a porno flick, really, but he liked it. It looked good to his untrained eye. There were like four unfinished pieces on the table plus one still on the easel and a stack under the table. None of them done, as far as James could tell.

James moved to the mail and flicked through it quickly. Final notice. Bill. Bill. Bill. Advertisement for a local shopping center. Bill. Charity mailer asking for money. Bill. James winced. That made a lot of pieces fall in to place. The job from Natasha, the need for a husband. It was about the money. That was almost disappointingly simple.

So, he wasn’t in danger. He was paying off some kind of debt for his transgressions. An asshole tax, James laughed to himself. He kind of deserved it, he guessed. And it was a safe place to hide out. Probably better than he’d have made for himself, really. Nobody who knew him would look for him in the middle of fucking nowhere playing house with an Abercrombie and Fitch model and his kids.

\------------------------------

Steve didn’t even sleep a little bit. Like, not at all. He’d know from the second that Natasha had come up with the idea that it was awful. But the reality of having a stranger in his home, even one behind a locked door with several deadbolts on it, while his kids were also here was anxiety inducing. He’d snagged an hour here and there throughout the night but the alarm started ringing what felt like several hours too early.

“Daddy, I want Coco Puffs.” Pietro was tugging on his comforter. Steve groaned.

He hadn’t even managed to get the alarm turned off yet.

“We don’t have any Coco Puffs.” Steve told him. Pietro pouted at him. It wasn’t going to make the cereal magically appear, so Steve didn’t see what the point of the pouting was. “Go wake up your sister. I’ll meet you both downstairs.”

Pietro groaned. “She doesn’t want to get up yet.”

“You have school. Tell her she has to get up anyway.” Steve mumbled in to his pillow. “We all do.”

Pietro disappeared reluctantly. Steve decided he had a few seconds to rest his eyes. Just rest his eyes. Just for a minute or two. While the twins were getting out of bed and downstairs for breakfast. Up side to being currently under-employed was that he could take the twins to school in his pajamas. And they were old enough to dress themselves. They’d put their homework away the night before. It would be fine. Just a minute or two more. Then he’d be up and work the rest of the day. He absolutely would.

He did not.

He woke up thirty minutes later, right when they had to be going out the door. And Steve hadn’t so much as brushed his teeth. And that completely ignored feeding his kids (breakfast or lunch) or making himself presentable in any way, shape, or form.

But he didn’t have time to care about what he looked like or how his breath smelled.  Steve leapt from the bed and raced down the stairs. He practically bowled through the front door because he went too quickly down the stairs and almost couldn’t stop himself. He only skidded to a stop when he heard Natasha’s laughter.

“Told you.” She told Pietro. “He woke up just fine.”

Pietro was at the kitchen table giggling into a bowl of cereal. Wanda had hers rinsing in the sink already.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Steve jumped backwards at the voice. Bucky was standing there, smiling at him. “The twins let me in when I knocked. When you didn’t come down, I helped with breakfast.”

“And lunch.” Pietro cheered. Wanda shushed him quickly, which made Steve suspicious.

He walked to where their lunchboxes (Cars for Pietro and Wreck It Ralph for Wanda) sat on the kitchen counter. Steve glanced between the twins and the lunchboxes a few times before pointing at them and looking pointedly at Wanda.

“What’s in your lunch today?” He asked her. Wanda shrugged innocently. Pietro caved first, laughing.

“An extra pudding cup.” He admitted. Steve just laughed.

“Fine.” He told them both. “But only because you’re cute. Now, lets get out of here before we’re late for school.”

They both jumped up, familiar with the routine, and grabbed their random things from around the house while Steve rushed after them telling them to hurry. It wasn’t until they were almost entirely out the door before Steve remembered that they hadn’t been alone. He spun towards where Bucky had taken one of the now empty seats at the kitchen table. He waved when he saw Steve watching.

“Natasha will be here to pick you up at eight to help with prep.” Steve told him.

“I can drive.” Bucky started to insist. Steve wasn’t about to let that happen. Not that it was possible.

“One car.” Steve told him. He wiggled the keys. “And I need it this morning, sorry.”

Bucky didn’t argue, but stared down at his breakfast. “Okay.”

Steve swore internally. The guy had spent the night in a garage. Had to be let in by the twins. Was being sent to work in a place he was going to be way over his head in. Steve had to sell this whole thing just a little bit better. He rushed back to where Bucky was sitting and brushed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll see you later.” He told him. Bucky’s eyes had gone wide. Steve raised a hand. “Don’t get any ideas.”

He closed the door on Bucky’s laughter. The twins ended up only being ten minutes late to school- not even all the way through homeroom. Steve considered it to be a success.

\------------------------------

“You want me to _what_?” he asked. Natasha was standing there, not looking insane in the least, with a large yellow bucket asking James to do something that was very much an insane thing. “I’m not going to do that. No. Nope.”

Natasha sighed. “It’s your job. Yes, you are. Stop being a baby.”

“No, a baby is what I’m cleaning up after.” he hissed. And took enjoyment from the fact that her cool façade cracked with a laugh when he said it. He _knew_ she was taking something out on him. He hadn’t even met her, lobbed a champagne bottle at her, or in any way insulted her. She was just a vindictive person.

“Just get it done.”

“This just doesn’t feel like my job.” James told her with a whine. It was what he was calling his ‘Bucky’ voice. Almost a drawl, but not quite. A lot of petulant whining because the people around him were absolutely The Worst™.

“Well, it is.” She said simply, turning away from him.

“But are you sure?” He asked. Because he knew she wouldn’t fire him. He was secure.

“Yes.” She clipped through a clenched jaw. “Now let me go do mine.”

The way James figured it, he had two ways to play this. He could be the unassuming victim and just go along with what they were asking him for so that they didn’t question who he was or his motives. Since they thought he was literally brain damaged, they really shouldn’t be questioning him at all. Option two was several miles more fun. Use the fact that they couldn’t call him out for not knowing how to do his job (because it _wasn’t_ his job and also _amnesia_ ) to do a terrible job and amuse himself by driving them all slowly insane.

He’d made the twin peanut butter toast for lunch. No jelly. Way too much peanut butter. Pressed too hard and put holes in the bread when spreading it. It was a little victory but, honestly, it had amused him for a full hour.

As soon as Steve had left, Bucky had gone in search of a house phone. But of course Steve didn’t have one. What millennial (or millennial adjacent) person did? But he’d also taken all his devices with him. And his laptop. They were all hidden. James figured it was probably intentional to keep ‘Bucky’ from seeing his ‘real’ identity on the news.

Jesus, this was complicated. He sighed to himself.

“Bucky?” A hand waved in front of his face. Natasha. He’d wondered how long it would take.

“Yes?” He asked her. He’d been standing absently for ten minutes. He hadn’t cleaned a single thing.

“Mop up the baby puke before I put you on bathroom duty instead of Fitz and Simmons.” She told him simply. That snapped Bucky to attention. He’d seen those bathrooms after the afternoon rush. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with them.

Only five more hours and thirteen more minutes until he could go home.

“Make sure you get the chunks off the wall.” Natasha called over her shoulder. James groaned.

Five more hours and twelve more minutes until he could go home.

\------------------------------

The kids were at school. Bucky was at work. Steve had his entire morning to work on the three paintings that he needed to give Fury before he could get his job all the way back. He’d gotten home, showered, had some breakfast, and sat immediately down to paint.

The painting on his easel was already half done. He just had to finish it.

It was a little boring, sure. Safe.

Alright, honestly, he hated it. It wasn’t just boring; it was redundant. Nothing he hadn’t painted before.

Steve tossed the painting on to the table with the others. They were all equally awful. It had started as a series of still life drawings mixing acrylic and watercolor painting. But they were boring. And nothing that Tony Stark would be interested in, he was sure.

“Let’s start something new, then.” He told himself. “Preferably something that doesn’t suck.”

He set up a fresh sheet to do some rough drawing and grabbed some charcoal to work with.

One rough circle and a few arching lines later, he froze. Nothing else came out.

After several more minutes frozen with his hand resting awkwardly on the paper, his arm started to hurt. Steve sighed and let it fall. There wasn’t a clear image in his mind yet, was all. He just needed to get inspired or something. Steve stood to straighten the crick in his back and circled around the stool he’d been sitting on.

The bed James was using sat with the blankets tangled in an unmade heap, which didn’t surprise Steve. The man probably had his maid to do his bed every morning for his entire life. The mechanics of actually cleaning up behind himself was obviously beyond him. He even had a small pile of clothes accumulating at the foot of the bed.

Steve rolled his eyes and turned back towards the canvas.

Nothing was coming out.

Suddenly all he could think about was Bucky at work with Natasha. And the fact that he’d gotten inside that morning before he’d come downstairs. He’d spent time alone with the kids. He swallowed and rubbed a hand of his face to force himself to focus.

A glance at the clock told him it was lunch time.

Maybe he was in the mood for pizza for lunch.

Caving in to his own procrastination, Steve grabbed his things from the table and left the house.

\------------------------------

“Buck.” Natasha called into back. James was chopping what was approximately his five hundredth onion. His sinuses were scorched. He’d long since stopped wiping at the tears that were streaming down his face. He’d started to think of them like a buffer between the onion’s devil fumes and the few remaining nerves in his eyeballs. So the first time Natasha called for him, he ignored her. The second time, there was a warning edge to her voice. Even he wasn’t that brave.

“Another baby didn’t puke, did it?” He asked reluctantly. James pretended not to notice her smirk.

“No.” She told him. Then she jerked her head towards the front of the house. “You have a visitor.”

James froze for a second. He didn’t know anyone else here. He turned to grab the chopping knife.

“You’re not coming out?” She asked him. James realized she thought he was going to go back to chopping onions. Yup, that was definitely why he’d grabbed the knife. Onion chopping. James cleared his throat and set the knife down again.

“I don’t remember breaks being a thing that you were a big fan of.” He told her, raising an eyebrow.

Maybe because she’d practically chained him to the prep table when he’d mentioned one before.

He’d wanted to go to the convenience store down the street and borrow a phone. But he’d backed down pretty quickly when Natasha snarled at him the first time he asked. Sure, it had been a little busy when he’d asked. Around noon. But he’d been trying to push her buttons- the whole peanut butter sandwich approach to life- and wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“This one, I’ll make an exception.” She laughed. “Your husband is out front waiting for a large peperoni.”

Oh, thank god. James tried not to convey the relief at knowing who was out there.

James just stared. “Should I make the pie before going out or…?”

She tossed a dishtowel at him, laughing, and motioned for him to get out of the kitchen.

Steve was sitting at the last booth in the restaurant, the front one in the corner bordered on two side by large storefront windows. He had a small sketchbook in front of him, staring down at it with a look of quiet concentration as he scribbled on the page. James smiled as he slid in to the booth.

“Work going okay?” He asked. Steve looked up at him and blinked absently.

“I feel like I should be asked you that.” Steve said quietly. He looked a little confused.

“I’m chopping onions.” James shrugged. Steve smiled at him and shook his head. “And green peppers.”

Steve did laugh then, but when he looked over James’ shoulder, his smile dropped. “Everything okay?”

It was guilt, he could tell. But it wasn’t like Steve could tell him that. “It’s fine.”

He wasn’t. But James was focused on the small black rectangle that Steve had left sitting on the side of the table while he worked. His cell phone. He wasn’t even paying attention to it. It was just sitting there, taunting him, while Steve went back to sketching absently. It was only a second of distraction when Natasha sent a busser over with their pizza. They were clearing the table to make room for the tray and he swiped it in to pocket. Steve hadn’t even noticed.

“So did you get much done this morning?” James asked. The look Steve leveled him with was deadly.

“Plenty.” He drawled.

“I saw your paintings last night.” James told him. It felt like a little bit of honesty that would buy him a lot of leeway with Steve. Admit a little bit, get a lot of trust. Plus, it would be normal to explore his little garage. If he pretended otherwise, Steve would be suspicious. “They’re good.”

Steve snorted derisively. “Not my best work.”

“You sell them?” James asked.

“When I can.” Steve told him. “I’m working on three right now. For a rich friend of my boss. It’s part of why I’m on limited hours.”

James raised an eyebrow. This  was the first he was hearing about it. “Limited hours?”

“If I get three paintings to Stark, then I can go back on full time.” Steve explained while chewing on a piece of pizza. James thought about the stack of half completed paintings in the garage. Clearly, the issue wasn’t talent. They were good. They weren’t even close to finished.

“Well, I guess that’s what I’m here for.” James gestured to the store around him with a grin.

It was worth it to see Steve’s face panic slightly. James knew he’d hit the nail on the head.

James palmed the phone in to his pants packet and started to stand up, making an excuse about needing the bathroom. Once he was in the tiny room- the one he’d gotten way to familiar with during the baby puke incident of the morning- he pulled it out and punched in the number that got drilled in to every field agent’s mind. It went directly to the Hydra main office.

It rung twice and then stopped.

There were no words. No instructions. Just a long solid beep followed by nothing.

“ID Code 32557038. Condition stable. Situation unsteady. Extraction needed. Do not call. Leave any instruction at the corner of Whitby and Glen Arden.” He repeated. It was by rote. Provide minimal details. No names. No exact positions. Provide condition, situation, and what was needed.

Within 24 hours he’d have instructions at the corner. He just had to stay safe until then. Not that the restaurant really appeared to be presenting that much of a threat to him. Especially if he was kept busy scrubbing toilets and chopping vegetables. Not many people were going to be going in to an occupied toilet or back into the restaurant’s kitchen.

With the phone call _finally_ made, he could relax. He would have his way out.

Why did it feel like he would going to be letting Steve down?

\------------------------------

Steve let his head hit the table as soon as the door to the bathroom shut behind Bucky. He groaned loudly. Natasha was already in the booth, right where Bucky had been sitting, grinning at him as if this was absolutely hilarious.

“I don’t want to hear it.” He ground out. Natasha flat out cackled at him.

“You came _here_ for lunch.” She told him. Her tone was less accusatory and more amused.

“So what?”

“So, I thought you didn’t even like the guy.” She pressed. She snagged a piece of the pizza and ate it while staring him down. Steve ignored her intently as he could and went back to sketching. He had a rough idea of a painting concept down, which was more than he had gotten done all morning.

“He’s in a tough spot.” Steve told her.

“Oh?”

“And we didn’t help it at all.” Steve continued. He sighed and tossed his pencil down.

“He made the twins breakfast this morning.” Steve admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And he made them lunch. Got them ready for school.”

Natasha nodded a few times. “Sounds cute.”

“Not the point. It happened because I overslept.” Steve elaborated. Natasha winced.

“That’s rough.”

“I’m no good at this.” Steve told her. Natasha didn’t ask him what he was referring to, which he appreciated because he didn’t know which he was feeling worse at: keeping the house together and taking care of the twins or kidnapping and lying to a man with amnesia.

Neither of them felt like they were his strong points, if he was being honest.

“How’s he doing here?” Steve asked her. Natasha shrugged.

“Got me out of cleaning baby puke this morning so I’m a fan so far.” She told him. Steve laughed.

“That’s cold.” He teased her. She tossed her napkin at his head, laughing with him.

“That’s business.” She corrected.

Bucky slid back in to the booth next to him and Steve couldn’t help but notice that he looked more relaxed than he had before Natasha had joined them. Steve looked between the two of them suspiciously, trying to gauge how Bucky was looking at her. If he was going to be a creep, Steve would have to shut it down. Fortunately, he appeared to only look at Natasha with grudging respect. And jealousy as she snatched the last piece of pizza from the tray. He went to move it for them and accidentally took out half the things on the table. Several items clattered to the floor. Natasha moved deftly out of the way of a water that was spilled and managed to get Steve’s sketchbook out of the river of water.

“Oh, shit.” He swore. “Steve, your phone!”

Steve ducked and grabbed it. “Not cracked. No big deal.”

“I’m such a klutz.” Bucky swore quietly but emphatically. Steve just stooped to help him grab the rest of the spilled items from the table.

“Hey.” Steve told him, grabbing his hand. “You’re fine. It was an accident. Don’t worry about it.”

Bucky stared at him intently. “Thanks, Steve.”

\------------------------------

James startled at the sound of clearing throat and realized that Natasha was staring at them both.

“You know.” She said slowly. “I thought I was done saying this. But get a room.”

James laughed. “I guess that would be the kitchen, in my case.”

“I’ll let you say goodbye to your hubby first.” Natasha told him with a teasing grin. “Think you can last until three without him?”

James looked at Steve. “I think I’ll be okay.”

Steve looked away and shrugged with a grin of his own. They all stood from the booth and floor, leaving the mess for the busser to get. Honestly, James was pretty sure Kate was still getting paid better than him because she was Clint’s favorite. So his level of pity for her being told to clean all of the tables was pretty low. She hadn’t even had to cut a single onion all day long. So pity was at rock bottom levels.

“I have a ton more onions to cut.” James told them both. They just nodded at him.

“I’ll see you at home later.” Steve told him. He pressed a small kiss to James’ hairline.

“Bye.” James squeaked. And then he practically bolted for the kitchen to get back to his work.

It wasn’t that he was actually that thrown off. But he was realizing that he should be. There was definitely _something_ throwing about the fact that Steve had, for some reason, started a little tradition of little kisses for Bucky on his way out the door. And while it was adorable, James was fine. Bucky, however, would not be. So he had to react accordingly. It was maintaining his cover was all.

There were several more people in the kitchen when he got back there. Starting to prep for after school pick ups and deliveries, which Natasha had warned James was a big rush at Stanley’s. Then again, “lunch rush” had consisted of maybe twenty people within an hour and a half. Which was only five or so more than they had at any other time. So James wasn’t exactly expecting a massive crowd at any point.

This was a town of, like, five hundred people. Not Brooklyn.

Though, in Natasha’s defense, that was not something anyone would know from the taste of the pizza.

He’d maybe had more than his one free slice per shift. Maybe. (Definitely).

James was through his onions and on to mushrooms when he was joined in the prep area by Natasha. She picked up her own knife and started working with him without saying a word. He just let her until she worked her way to saying whatever she’d come back to say.

“You actually okay, Buck?” She asked him. And the look in her eye asked a lot more than his opinion on mushroom chopping. James just shrugged and kept cutting.

“As long as we’re not bringing in any more sick babies.” He told her.

\------------------------------

The twins were in the middle of their homework when Bucky got back to the house. It was immediate chaos all around, and not just because Wanda didn’t want to do her spelling homework. That was at least a small part of it, but Steve, had put in a few hours for Fury before coming home and got absolutely no painting done.

Before he greeted either of them, Bucky groaned and dropped onto the couch.

“How many people in this town eat pizza for dinner every night?” Bucky asked him. He sounded beat. Steve hid his smile by turning back to the chicken he had on the stove. “There were so many people. I didn’t think this many people lived here.”

Steve lost his battle and caved in to laughter. “I think Nat runs a special on Monday nights.”

“She what?” Bucky had sat up quickly.

“Half off large pizzas?” Steve offered. It was a tradition in town.

“She didn’t say that when I agreed to come back today.” Bucky groused.

His head dropped back on to the pillow of the couch. But the twins, thoroughly distracted from their homework now, jumped onto his back. Bucky barely even flinched. Then, in a flash so fast Steve almost dropped the spatula in his hands, Bucky was standing with one twin in each hand. A second later, he dropped the twins which, weirdly, made them squeal more and not less. Steve felt his head start to pound. He herded them back to the table and sat down with them, motioning for Steve to go back to the cooking. Steve’s headache spiked and he regarded his husband dubiously.

“Not so tired now, huh?” He challenged. Bucky just grinned and flopped on to the floor with the kids.

“Exhausted.” Bucky told him. “So glad to have a trophy husband to cook for me.”

Steve leveled him with a look, but Bucky had this insolent grin on his face that Steve couldn’t hate too much. He had amnesia. He was a spoiled brat. He had an adorable smile, sure, but this was not about him being cute. It was about Steve being able to work and get the paintings done that he needed to for Stark so that he could get his job back.

“Is Sammy coming over for dinner tonight?” Wanda asked him. Steve’s head snapped to the side.

“No.” He said simply. Sam hadn’t called since the day that he’d moved out. Steve was giving him space.

“We miss Sam.” She continued. This was directed at Bucky. Bucky was staring at Steve.

He had no idea who Sam was. Shit.

“Sam’s busy with Mr. Riley.” Steve told Wanda. “He’s not going to be coming over for a little while.”

Bucky didn’t ask, but he was still staring at Steve not saying anything. Steve turned back around and looked down at the pan. That hadn’t been something he’d come up with a cover story for. What was he even supposed to say about it? “Hey, before I tricked you in to thinking you were my husband I had a friend living with me to help pay the bills.” “So glad you’re here to provide slave labor to pay for him moving out on us!” Neither of those sounded like viable things for Steve to drop on his new husband’s lap, so Steve just pulled the chicken off the stove and popped a bag of steamer veggies in to the microwave. It wasn’t the most high-effort dinner, but it was nutritious. The twins would hate it. It was the crux of parenting as he remembered it.

“What’s for dinner?” The voice was too close behind him. Steve’s hand smacked the counter as he jumped.

“Chicken.” Steve told him tersely. He stuck his hand under cold water. It was sitting on a plate right there where anyone could see it. Steve turned and looked down at Bucky, who looked exhausted and smelled faintly of marinara sauce.

“What else?” Bucky asked him. Steve sighed, counted to ten, and then looked back down at him.

“Vegetables.” Somehow he knew even before he made the face that Bucky was going to hate it.

Maybe because he was at the same maturity level as the kids.

“It was what we had in the house.” Steve pointed out petulantly. Bucky just chuckled, still way too close for Steve’s liking. He also didn’t like the look in his eye. He was up to something, but Steve couldn’t say what. Instead, Bucky just continued to look at him. Steve had to fight the temptation to tuck one of his long pieces of brown hair behind his ear so it would stay out of his face.

The moment, as weird as it was, got demolished by a loud crash followed by screaming from the living room. Steve sighed and closed his eyes. Another thing that he needed to take care of. He went to set everything down to go separate the twins, but found a hand on his chest pressing him back.

“I’ll take care of it.” Bucky told him.

“Not your job.” Steve pointed out, tossing a dish towel on the counter in frustration.

“Nonsense.” Bucky waved him off. But Steve kept pushing. And before he even thought about it, the words were tumbling out of his mouth.

“They’re not your kids.” Steve told him. “I’ve got it.”

Steve flinched when he heard the gasp behind him. He spun around and found Bucky staring at him, glaring angrily. “That’s not fair.”

“No.” Steve tried to explain it away, keeping a hand between them. “It’s not that. I swear that’s not-”

Bucky’s arms crossed across his chest. “You mean it’s a brain thing? Because I don’t remember?”

Steve’s jaw dropped. It had just been a slip of the tongue. “No. Buck, I promise. It’s not that.”

“Low blow, Steve.” Bucky snapped at him. “Low blow.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose while Bucky blew angrily past him into the living room.

\------------------------------

It had been way too easy to get Steve awkwardly flustered. James smiled to himself and kept walking towards where the twins were having some kind of knock down drag out fight. Figuring that the element of surprise was only going to help him in a situation that was two versus one, James snatched them both at the same time. It didn’t give the other one time to fend off the offensive.

“I’m gonna take these two downstairs to finished their homework.” James told Steve. Steve was just standing there, jaw partially dropped, completely ignoring the beeping of the microwave. “Call us when dinner is ready, okay?”

Their books were on the table in the dining room, something that James didn’t think about until he was halfway down the basement steps and it was too far to go back. He sighed to himself and went back to managing his way down the steep basement steps with two squirming nine-year-olds in his arms. It was even harder than it sounded.

“Are you really going to make us do homework?” Pietro asked him.

“Nope.” James told them with a shrug. He hadn’t done most of his either, and he was fine.

Ignoring the faking amnesia in a random man’s house in Podunk, USA part of his life story, of course.

“Daddy wants us to do homework.” Wanda told him carefully. She looked skeptical of him.

The basement was mostly finished. The walls were unpainted drywall and the floor was concrete, but there was furniture and a small table and piles upon piles of toys stretched the entire way across the space. A plush couch took up a large portion of the back wall. James was seriously also exhausted, so he made a bee-line for it. As long as the twins weren’t actively killing each other, he was fine with them doing whatever. Homework or not.

“Daddy wants us to do homework.” Wanda repeated. She looked confused, not eager to do the work.

“I’m sure he’ll make you do it after dinner.” James told them, burying his face in to the couch.

“But that’s TV time.” Pietro whined.

“Then I guess the homework should get done now.” James pointed out. The twins looked at each other, back at James, and then both thundered up the stairs. He worried for a moment that they’d be bothering Steve again when he was too tired to peel himself off the couch, but then the herd of elephants made their way back down the stairs and the twins bounded back into the room with their arms loaded with books.

“I have two math work sheets.” Pietro told him. “But I know how to do them myself.”

James looked up, smiled at him, and laughed. “Good for you, buddy.”

“I’m not stupid.” Peitro said defensively. That made James’ head snap up for a different reason.

“Of course not.” James told him.

“But if I need your help,” Pietro said quickly, “You’ll have to help me like Papa does.”

James just nodded, a little confused. “Okay.”

“Do you remember how to do math? We’re working on long division now.” Pietro started to explain it more in detail as he scribbled on his worksheet. It sounded to James like he had a perfect grasp of the concept. At least so far as James remembered of long division, which he had honestly actively had to block out of his mind since finishing elementary school.

“ _Brother, let him sleep_.” Wanda whispered at him in Sokovian.

“ _But what if I need help?_ ” Pietro asked her. James pulled an arm over his head to block the noise.

“ _I will help you if you let me sleep_.” James told them. The twins looked towards him, said nothing, and turned back to their homework. Wanda’s lips were drawn in to a tight line as she worked on something out of a thick text book. James didn’t remember textbooks being that thick when he was in school but clearly they’d learned a few more things since that ancient time.

They worked in silence, occasionally exchanging a word or two, and it was peaceful enough in the basement that James started to drift off. He was practically comatose when he heard the repeated slapping noise followed by Pietro insulting himself.

“ _I’m stupid._ ”

“ _No. Stop._ ” Wanda was reaching across the table to take his hand. “ _You’re not stupid._ ”

“ _I got the math done. Can you help me with the English work?_ ” Pietro asked her quietly. They both glanced towards James just in time to see that he was staring right at him. The twins said nothing and started back on their homework.

_“You’re not stupid. English is a stupid language._ ” James told them both calmly. Pietro started laughing.

“ _Papa says we can’t call it stupid._ ” Wanda told him shortly. James shrugged again.

“ _I forgot that rule_.” He told them both. He gave them a wink which made them both laugh again.

“ _We’re supposed to say that it’s hard. Not that we don’t like it or that it’s stupid._ ” Wanda continued. She was clearly reciting some lecture Steve had given them before. It wasn’t _wrong_ per se, but Steve didn’t think it was what a self-conscious nine year old learning English as a second language needed to hear.

“ _It’s hard because it’s stupid_.” James told her with a shrug.

“I’m going to tell dad that you said that.” She told him. James could tell she didn’t trust him one bit.

Smart kid.

“And I’ll tell him you’re borrowing your brother’s math answers.” James answered, raising an eyebrow. Wanda said nothing but pushed a workbook across the table back to Wanda.

“I know how to do it myself.” She insisted. James just nodded.

“I didn’t say you didn’t.” James agreed.

The twins both shifted in their seats and James started trying to go back to sleep. Dinner had almost been ready when they’d come downstairs. He didn’t know what the delay was, but also wouldn’t blame Steve for taking a few moments to himself before inviting the chaos back updates.

“Dad?” Pietro said it hesitantly. James felt vaguely nauseous, but forced a smile.

“What’s up?” James asked.

“Can you help me with this English thing?” He asked. James sat up and nodded a few times.

“Of course, bud.” He said quietly.

He could definitely handle English homework.

\------------------------------

“He was just…helping them with their homework?” Clint asked him. His voice was a little muffled because of the aerosol mask on his face, but Steve could hear him just fine. As it was, Steve was still a little puzzled by it himself.

“I called them for dinner and nobody came. I went downstairs and he was at their little table helping them work on their homework.” Steve laughed. It had been the strangest scene. “He and Pietro were insulting the English language in Sokovian. Attempting to label the parts of a sentence.”

Clint laughed with him.

“I remember in high school when Natasha was still learning English.” He told Steve with a laugh. “I’m pretty sure I caught her doing the same thing on more than one occasion.”

Steve frowned. “I didn’t even know Bucky spoke Sokovian.”

“Well, it’s not like you ran a background check on him before bringing him home.” Clint pointed out.

Steve knew that. And it was sitting awkwardly in his stomach now that they were several days in. Not that he hadn’t been very happy to see that first paycheck come in. Or the single completed painting he’d almost finished and gotten over to Fury. Something fresh that Steve didn’t hate. Portraiture wasn’t always Steve’s style, but at least there was something to the direct gaze of the woman he’d drawn. A modern take on Atlas staring angry, defiant, and naked at the viewer. The colors were off- too vivid with splashes of neon undertones- but it just upped the impact.

He thought it was the best thing he’d made in months.

“Are you fantasizing about your fake husband, or about the painting?” Clint asked him, teasing,

“Which is less weird?” Steve asked.

“Neither of those are winning answers.” He told Steve with a laugh. Steve didn’t think he was wrong.

“Natasha says he doesn’t suck at making pizza either.” Clint told him. Steve smirked. That was pretty high praise from someone who’d told Steve that the way he sliced tomatoes was both Barbaric and Insulting. “He’s apparently won Kate over to.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You hate having him there, don’t you?”

“I used to get garlic knots when I went to see them.” Clint told him, whining. “Now I get mocked.”

Steve laughed.

“I get no respect.” Clint protested. “I used to be the favorite.”

Steve continued laughing and earned a sweat rag to the face for it, which was fair.

\------------------------------

James didn’t even wait for a hello. The second the call connected he launched right an into a long, impassioned plea about the state his universe was currently in and all of the reasons that he absolutely deserved compassion, understanding, and empathy. And then he ended it with what would be, in this case, the ultimate kicker to secure what he needed.

“Steve is at work and I can’t bother him. It’s an emergency. Can you help me?”

Natasha, to her credit, did not laugh.

Perhaps because she heard the din of chaos behind him and took pity. More likely because he was waking her up. It was only a little after eight. They were supposed to be at school. They were definitely late for school. That was a thing he knew that the twins were _supposed_ to go to, but had somehow managed to drop the ball on.

“What’s the problem?” She asked. James sighed.

“Didn’t you hear what I said before?”

“It mostly all blended in to a high pitch whine. I couldn’t follow.” Natasha admitted. James sighed. “Something about an antelope, I think?”

“Cantaloupe.” James corrected absently.

“What about it?” Natasha asked him. James sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I tried to give it to Wanda for breakfast.” James admitted. Natasha laughed at him then.

“Wanda eats Honey Nut Cheerios for breakfast.” Natasha told him, as if it were obvious. Which James realized _now_ , clearly, but nobody had thought to warn _Bucky_ that failing to provide for the little hellion’s demand for sugary sustenance would mean raising hell directly into their postage stamp sized dining room. It was something he had picked up on quickly after the fact. But at that point, the hell had already been brought to this plane and there was no sending it back.

“Wanda is weird about change.” Natasha told him quietly, but her voice was tinged with amusement.

“Nobody told _me_ that.” James pointed out. He knew he sounded whiney but his morning had been hard.

Natasha was quiet for a second.

“I guess we just assumed that you remembered.” Natasha told him. Her voice had gone a little more serious. “Which I realize now sounds ridiculous. We didn’t think about it.”

James let out a huge breath. “We’re so late to school.”

“This really hasn’t come up yet?” Natasha asked him.

“I haven’t had to take the kids to school yet.” James admitted. He hadn’t really been alone in the house with them either. Steve tended to either be there himself or have Natasha there. Which kind of defeated the purpose of kidnapping an in-house babysitter if you weren’t going to use them. He didn’t bring it up because he understood why. “I knew she was particular, but I didn’t realize she was….that particular.”

“Routine. And rules.” Natasha agreed.

“Yeah, picked up on that now.” James drawled. Natasha laughed again.

“This feels like a call that should have been made to your husband?” Natasha pointed out. James didn’t appreciate the deflection.

“If I called him, he’d leave work.” James explained. “He’s already on part-time. Your shop doesn’t open for four more hours. You can help me.”

Natasha sighed. “Fine. On my way.”

\------------------------------

Steve was working on the scaffold next to Clint again when the phone rang. It was the twins’ school. Steve answered it quickly, fearing an emergency of some kind. But instead it was Darcy from the front office yammering about whether or not Steve wanted to mark the twins as sick or if it was an unexcused absence.

“I totally get the forgetting to call in.” Darcy rambled. Steve could practically see her leaning back in her desk chair, twirling the spiral cord of her desk phone around her finger. “Especially if they’re both sick. But if you can get a doctor’s note or something and send it with them tomorrow, then they’ll get the absent mark excused.”

Steve let her finish, processing the information. “I’m sorry. What?”

“The twins?” Darcy prompted. “Aren’t they out today? They were marked absent in home room.”

Steve groaned.

Typically, they’d at least make it through first period before skipping. Steve took several deep breaths to calm his temper before moving the phone back to his ear. He never should have let Natasha talk him in to having Bucky take the twins to school.

“They, uh, had a new ride to school today. I’m at work.” Steve shook his head. “Let me see what’s going on and make sure they’re okay. I’ll call you back.”

Darcy waited a beat. “I’ll mark that as tardy until I hear back from you.”

“Appreciate it, Darcy. Thanks.” Steve hung up before she even had a chance to say goodbye back.

He went to dial Bucky’s phone before remembering that he didn’t have one. And that he didn’t have a house phone. There was no way for Bucky to call him if he needed to get in touch. Like if there was some kind of emergency. If one of the twins was hurt. Or sick. Or if they’d gotten in to a horrible accident on their way to the school. Steve’s stomach dropped.

Since he had no other way to check on them, he called Natasha.

“The twins haven’t gotten dropped off at school.” He snapped when the line connected.

“I know.” Natasha said simply. “You know, typically people say ‘hi’ when they start a phone call. No need to be rude. You and your husband are two rude peas in a pod.”

Steve could only handle one crisis at a time. “You’ve talked to Bucky?”

“He called me.” Natasha told him. Steve thought about it for a second.

“On what phone?” Steve questioned. Natasha was suspiciously quiet afterwards.

For, like, a suspiciously long time.   
  
Steve rolled his eyes.

Finally, Natasha huffed. “It was way too inconvenient when I needed to get him for work and he’s only had it like a day and a half. There’s not even any texting or data. Just minutes. It was ten bucks from the 7-11 across the street.”

“I’ll pay you back.” Steve told her, hanging up the phone with a very unsatisfying tap.

He turned back to his work before swearing loudly. He’d never gotten an answer about the twins.

\------------------------------

The twins made it to school by nine, with a lot of help from Natasha. She groused about needing to drive but James was too frazzled to remember where Steve put the keys, so they hadn’t really had another option. In the end he’d barely managed to remember shoes. He was halfway there when he realized he’d never put a shirt on. He’d mounted black op strikes that were less stressful than herding those two kids in to school.

Natasha just smirked when he asked why she hadn’t said anything.

“Consider it payment.” She told him. “Your husband knows about your work phone too.”

James just laughed. “I told you he was serious about these sobriety rules that I made.”

“You were too.” She lied. It was surprisingly smooth. James raised an eyebrow at her. “I know it sounds cheesy, but he’s just doing what he thinks is right.”

Which sounded true. And very much like Steve.

Not that kidnapping him was right. But neither was James taking advantage of the free place to stay. But they were each just doing what they had to in order to survive. James was maybe a little more literally in danger. But he wasn’t going to hold Steve’s position against him either.

“You okay over there?” Natasha asked him.

“I just still have trouble believing that he’s my husband.” James excused. A lie for her lie. “This whole situation is just insane. Unbelievable, actually. Like a bad eighties movie.”

Natasha laughed. “You’re suited for each other, though.”

“Are we?” James raised an eyebrow.

“Neither of you know how to start a phone conversation, for one.” Natasha teased. James laughed with her, but let his head hit the back of his seat. “I just think you’re the best thing to happen to each other.”

“Brain damage included?” James joked.

“The brain damage specifically. You’re so much better now.” Natasha teased.

They pulled up to the house and James just sat in the car without getting out. He only had an hour or two before having to leave for work. Enough time to get a run to the corner in, to check for a response from Pierce. But first, he had a question.

“Steve’s okay, right?” He asked. “I know he’s not telling me everything. And the stuff with Fury…”

Natasha shrugged. “And the stuff with you.”

“That too.” James nodded. Natasha didn’t laugh with him.

“Maybe just take it easy with him?” She suggested. James shifted awkwardly. “He’s not as tough as he looks. He’s a hot mess on a good day. And he hadn’t had a lot of good days recently. Not all your fault, but I think you’re paying for that.”

He sure was, James fought back a laugh. “I will. I am.”

“Good.” She still wasn’t laughing. “He needs more good things in his life. Be one of them.”

“You’re not going to give me any more details than that, though?” James challenged. “Or maybe explain why someone who paints as well as him works painting buildings?”

Natasha shrugged. “Ask him.”

“I have.” James told her. “He never wants to talk about it.”

Natasha said nothing to that, but shrugged again. James sighed and climbed out of the car. It was weird trusting and not trusting these people at the same time. She gave him an enigmatic smile and shifted the car in to reverse. She only went a few feet before she stopped and rolled down the window next to him. James stopped walking back to the house.

“Hey, Bucky?” She called. He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

“Put a shirt on.” She called. He laughed and gave her the finger as he walked back in to the house.

Once he got back inside, he went directly to the upstairs window to watch the car drive away. Once it disappeared from view, he got changed into running gear and used the spare key to lock the door behind him on his way back out. If anyone saw him, or if Steve came home unexpectedly and saw him gone, James could pretend that he’d just been out for a quick run.

The corner he’d told them to drop instructions at was less than a half a mile away. James could cover that distance in a matter of minutes if he took the road, but he didn’t want to be seen wandering around the neighborhood in case someone mentioned it to Steve. So he routed around the long way, going out the back entrance of the community and circling along the main road on a route that took him right to the corner.

It was empty.

There was nothing there, not even a piece of litter or a scribble on the back of the sign. James even pretended to retie his shoes just so that he’d have more time to check for some kind of message. But there was none. He was picking through the grass in a desperate belief that maybe whatever they left him fell and got covered.

There was nothing.

There was supposed to be something.

James didn’t freeze. That’s not what this was. He was simply taking a long moment to decide what his next course of action was going to be. The house with Steve and his family was definitely still the safest place for him to be. But it was always supposed to be a momentary stop while waiting for direction. And if direction wasn’t going to come, he needed to find one for himself.

A sign caught his eye. Maybe what he needed was to keep moving. If he was going to sit still, he couldn’t be predictable. Which meant that having the same routine every day was going to be a problem. Potentially a serious one. As long as they managed to keep their scheduled varied, nobody would be able to trap them with it.

He just hoped that Steve would be interested in a date night to the county fair.

\------------------------------

Steve was ready for a fight when he got home. Not only had working outside all day in the heat been awful, he’d had to deal with the twins being late to school. And the call telling him that it would have to be marked down as unexcused because there hadn’t been any explanation. Which had included Darcy asking him about the “very confused shirtless man” who had brought the twins to the front office. Steve could only guess who she’d been referring to.

“Bucky?” He called. The house was suspiciously quiet. “What are you doing home?”

Bucky shrugged. “Boss gave me the day off. And offered to babysit the twins.”

“She offered to babysit the twins?” Steve questioned. Because that was not like her. She didn’t mind them, obviously she loved them, but babysitting while she also ran the restaurant was probably on the bottom of her list of favorite things.

“She did.” Bucky nodded, then caved, smiling up at Steve sheepishly. “After I asked her to a few times.”

Steve laughed despite himself. “That sounds more like her.”

 “But anyway!” Bucky told him, already grabbing things and pushing Steve up towards the bedroom. “You have fifteen minutes to get ready. Then we’re heading out.”

Steve wanted to correct him. Tell him he was exhausted and they weren’t going anywhere.

Instead, he smiled. “Where are we going?”

“Out.” Bucky told him simply. “Just get ready.”

“I need to know what to get ready for.” Steve protested, but Bucky didn’t stop pushing at him.

“I set you out clothes. You’re down to thirteen minutes. Better hurry.” Steve turned and took the steps two at a time all of the way up to the second floor. Sure enough, Bucky had set out a pair of jeans and button up shirt for him. It was one of his older ones that had probably been dug out of the back of the closet. As well as an old beat up leather jacket that Steve had honestly forgotten that he owned.

“You really expect me to wear this?” He called down the stairs to Bucky.

“You’re down to ten minutes.” Bucky called back up to him, laughing. Steve sighed.

“I’m going to hate this, aren’t I?” He muttered to himself. But he jumped into the shower anyway and found that by the time they got into the car, he was just as excited as Bucky for whatever night they had in front of them. Not that he understood what inspired it, but the whole thing was exciting.

“You’re going to have to tell me where we’re going,” Steve told him once they were on the highway.

“I know where I’m going.” Bucky assured him.

“And what if you get lost?” Steve challenged.

“Natasha gave me directions.” Bucky insisted. He wasn’t budging. “And she drew me a map. I’m going to get us there just fine.”

Steve just nodded to himself and stayed quiet. Instead, he pulled out his phone.

_In the car w him_. He texted Natasha.

_I know the plan and I’m not telling you what it is_. She responded quickly.

_Not even if I ask nicely?_ He questioned.

_He’s got me on his side for this one._ Natasha responded. The text bubble immediately popped back up so Steve didn’t bother trying to respond before she sent something else. _He’s trying to do something sweet. Just take a deep breath and let him._

_James? Being sweet?_ Steve texted her. _I think we broke him by calling him Bucky._

Natasha responded almost immediately. _Or maybe he wasn’t all that bad to begin with._

_Whose side are you on?_ Steve asked her.

_Definitely his_. Natasha responded. _And whichever side it is that gets you laid._

Steve snorted. _NONE OF THEM DO THAT, NATASHA. NONE OF THEM_.

Which was the first time Steve realized that the fact kind of disappointed him. Bucky looked good when he wasn’t being an arrogant jackass prancing around in a speedo. And he was good with the kids. And planned date nights to- Steve saw the signs as they pulled in to the parking lot- the county fair. His jaw dropped and he started to laugh.

“I haven’t come to the fair in years.” Steve told him, turning to Bucky in surprise. Bucky smiled at him.

“I thought it might be a nice night out. And the tickets are only $3 a piece, which means I could afford it.” Bucky said with a laugh. Steve laughed with him. They climbed out of the car and Steve shivered. The temperature was dropping as the sun went down.

“The twins would have loved this.” Steve said without thinking. Bucky just smiled.

“You’re right.” He agreed.

“I wish we would have brought them.” He didn’t mean anything by it, but was surprised by the way Bucky’s smile widened at the sentiment.

“I thought the same thing.” Bucky agreed. “Which is why I talked Natasha bringing them here. They’re going to meet up with us in a couple hours. When it’s time to get them home for bed. Until then, you’re all mine.”

“All yours?” Steve questioned. He raised an eyebrow.

“I might not remember our vows.” Bucky told him, scratching his chin. “But I’m sure there’s something like that in there. Right next to the promise to obey.”

Steve snorted. “We cut that one.”

They bought tickets and went inside. It was weirdly casual, walking with Bucky through the stalls. Steve forced him to try funnel cake when Bucky hadn’t ever remembered having it. Then Bucky kicked Steve’s ass at like four different carnival games. How he always managed to win when the games were meant to be rigged, Steve had no idea. But he ended the night with two gigantic stuffed bears, a slinky, and some sort of light up star shaped wand.

“Okay,” Steve asked him. “Are there any games left you haven’t won?”

Bucky thought about it for a second, leaving Steve to laugh at him. “I don’t think so.”

“Daddy!” A voice called over to them. “Papa!”

There was an impact at Steve’s knees that nearly bowled him over. Steve surreptitiously checked his watch because there was no way it had already been two hours. But it had actually been three. The twins were _so late_ for their bed time. Steve groaned.

“It would help, if you’re planning to meet up with someone- to answer your phone when they call.” Natasha informed them both. Bucky held up his hands and mumbled some excuse about giving his phone back that morning. Steve rolled his eyes a little.

“Sorry, Nat. Mine must be on silent. I didn’t hear it ring.” Steve told her.

Bucky was busy handing out his spoils. A bear for each twin, a slinky for Pietro, and a wand for Wanda.

“I’m a witch!” Wanda crowed, waving the wand around haphazardly. Steve foresaw wounds in all of their futures. Death by the pointy end of a plastic wand. He looked over at the twins laughing with Bucky and figured there were probably worse ways to go.

“So, you guys had a good night?” Natasha asked Steve, nudging him with her elbow. Steve blushed.

“Yeah.” He told her. “We had a great night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Bucky Meeting the Twins by AngstAssArt  
>   
> Date at the Fair by ValecitaDraws


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work done with Valecita Draws and Angstassart for Captain America Big Bang 2018!  
> Check us out on tumblr [here](https://www.walkingstardust.tumblr.com) (Walkingstardust / KOranges), [here](https://www.valecitadraws.tumblr.com) (Valecitadraws), and here [here](https://www.angstassart.tumblr.com) (Angstassart)

James woke up cramped on his tiny little cot, scowling at the ceiling. His back hurt. His head hurt. It had been a whole week since he’d gotten a good night’s sleep. He felt like he had a tiny jackhammer going to work on his forehead. He rolled over. The light through the window was bright enough that he knew he was sleeping in. But one of the unexpected perks of faking amnesia in the middle of nowhere, USA was having a job that didn’t start until noon most days. He could feel the discipline he’d honed over the years to get up and work out before the sun rose fleeing for the distance.

He just needed a decent bed to sleep in.

One that was preferably within insulated walls on a mattress larger than a postage stamp

Eventually, he was forced to admit his sleeping was slipping from luxurious to slothful. He needed to move before his muscles literally atrophied. He was practically becoming one with his little cot. It was sad. James sat up reluctantly and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Steve called over to him.

James’ eyes popped open.

“I hope you don’t mind but I wanted to get some painting in.” Steve explained. He was focused on his canvas, working intently on the detail of a face that took up ninety percent of the space. It was already striking, James admired as Steve worked. “I’ve got to go see Fury this afternoon, so you’ll have to drop me off and get the kids from school. Natasha’s cool with them doing their homework there as long as it doesn’t get too busy.”

James cleared his throat. “Not a problem.”

“Sleep okay?” Steve asked him, face full of concern. James forced a smile. “Stupid question.”

James shook his head. “I just need coffee. Can’t think without coffee.”

“Doors unlocked.” Steve nodded towards the main house. James nodded and stumbled his way to it.

He needed to get to the sign again. There was no way that Pierce would miss two calls. He’d stolen Steve’s phone while they were at the fair under the guise of wanting a family photo- which they’d taken and it was adorable- and left another voicemail with the same instructions as the first one. It had been a day and a half. So if for some reason they hadn’t gotten his first message, they’d have definitely gotten his second one.

James made some coffee and waited for the machine to beep at him, which seemed to be taking an ungodly long amount of time. Not that he was being impatient. After a couple minutes, Steve walked in and laughed at James leaning pitifully against the counter.

“No coffee yet?” He asked.

James shook his head.

“Want some breakfast?” Steve offered. He was already rifling through the cabinets.

This time, he nodded. “But I was going to go for a run first.”

“Go now and everything will be ready when you get back.” Steve suggested. James looked at the coffee pot with pitiful longing, but caved. He needed to check before work and wouldn’t have time after eating. But somehow he already knew. He hadn’t even started the loop in the other direction when something in his gut told him there was still going to be nothing there. So when he showed up and the spot was empty again, he wasn’t even surprised.

\------------------------------

“I don’t want to alarm you.” Bucky called as he walked in to house. “But something appears to have burned to death in here.”

Steve was waving a towel in front of the smoke detector, swearing incessantly.

“Everything alright?” He asked. Steve just shot him a look and said nothing. But he stopped. There was a weird look on Bucky’s face that made Steve stop waving his stupid dish towel and stared over at him in confusion. He looked dejected.

“You okay?” Steve asked. He put a hand to Bucky’s forehead to check for a temperature, but there wasn’t one. Bucky didn’t swat away his hand so Steve didn’t feel that much better.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I think I just realized that I’d been here a whole week.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “We’ve lived here for years, Buck.”

“I know, I know.” He shook his head a few times and forced himself to straighten up and smile. Steve could tell he wasn’t actually feeling any better. “I guess I meant since I can remember living here. A week ago. I just thought it would be over by now, you know?”

Steve frowned. “It won’t last forever.”

“What if it does?” He seemed distressed by the idea.

Steve tried not to be offended by it. He was literally this man’s kidnapper so it wasn’t like he had much of a high ground to demand Bucky’s happiness. “Then we’ll make it work. Whatever comes next, you’re not going to be going through it alone. Alright?”

Bucky just nodded and took a deep breath. “I guess I’m lucky you’re here.”

“You guess?” Steve laughed. Bucky laughed with him.

“Yeah, you’re a little punk.” Bucky told him. “Don’t even make me breakfast when you promise to.”

Steve let out a little offended gasp, mostly because he knew it would make Bucky laugh again. It worked and some of the tension left his faux-husband’s shoulders. The smoke detector finally cut off and left them in silence and it felt pretty deafening. Steve coughed awkwardly.

“I do have some fruit. And I think eggs?” Steve offered. Bucky just nodded.

The moment had become suddenly, crushingly, awkward. Steve forced himself to smile through it.

“Unfortunately bacon is entirely off the menu.” Steve told him. Bucky nodded a few times again but didn’t say anything to him. The kitchen smelled of burnt meat so Steve opened the small window above the sink because the stove fan was just not cutting it at all.

“I don’t mean to insult your cooking skills.” Bucky started. Steve shot him a warning look, but that didn’t stop Bucky from reaching around him to snag a grape from the bowl on the counter and smiling up at him insolently. “But maybe we should just stick to the fruit? I’d hate for the house to burn down.”

Steve’s offended gasp was not faked this time. “How many meals have I cooked for you?”

“Clearly, I don’t remember the answer to that.” Bucky teased.

They ended up eating buttered toast with their eggs, which Bucky cooked in order to- as he claimed- protect their lives and their home. By the time the morning was over, Steve was still sitting at the counter without having finished his second painting or showered to get ready for Fury. And Bucky hadn’t gotten ready for work.

“We’ve wasted the entire morning.” Steve groused.

“I need to shower immediately if we’re not going to be late.” Bucky said with a nod, he set their dirty plates in the sink and turned to head upstairs.

“I have to shower too.” Steve insisted. “And you take forever.”

Bucky shook his head. “No. No, no. I take normal showers. You take insanely fast ones that probably don’t even get you damp.”

“I think it’s because you have too much hair.” Steve told him, taking a piece of it in his hand and holding it out to prove his point. “It takes you too long to wash all of it.”

Bucky laughed and looked up at him. “My hair is perfect and we both know it.”

Steve looked down at him and there was a thunderclap of ~something~ between them. It was practically palpable. Steve dropped the piece of Bucky’s hair and stepped back, clearing his throat. Bucky didn’t seem to notice and kept his smile in place. He was staring right at Steve, not even looking away.

“I mean if you wanted to save time, we could just shower together.” Bucky told him with a wink.

Steve had to take a second to wipe that mental picture from his mind.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Steve said slowly. The thought popped up again. Steve had to swallow and look away because looking at Bucky was going to make him blush.

“Okay then.” Bucky smirked as if he knew exactly why Steve couldn’t meet his eyes. “New idea. Whoever gets there first gets the first shower.

He didn’t even wait for Steve’s response, he just took off. Steve was left gaping at Bucky as he sprinting up their stairs to get to the shower first. He had to laugh. Instead of joining him, as surprisingly tempting as that offer was, Steve turned to the sink and worked on the dishes Bucky had left there. After rinsing them and stacking them in the dishwasher, he heard the shower upstairs turn off. Knowing they were tight on time, Steve headed that way so that he could hop in quickly.

Bucky was standing naked in his bedroom when he walked in. When he spotted Steve, his hand instinctively went to cover himself. It took Steve a minute to remember that he wasn’t actually married to the guy and shouldn’t openly ogle him. Because the view wasn’t exactly a bad one.

“Um.” He managed to get out. “Sorry, I thought you were done.”

Bucky turned away awkwardly and pulled shorts on quickly.

“Just another second and I’ll be out of your way.” Bucky seemed oddly tense again, mouth set in a serious line instead of the teasing smirk he’d typically expect in this situation.

“I’m not complaining.” Steve told him with a grin. Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes.

“You missed your chance to join me in the shower, big guy.” Bucky told him with a wink. “Next time.”

Steve laughed. “Give it another twenty days, Casanova.”

Bucky walked out and left Steve standing in his own bedroom fighting every natural instinct against being attracted to his own husband. What a stupid situation to be in. Steve swore to himself when he saw the clock, knowing that he didn’t have the time for self-flagellation. He’d have to figure out what to do about the rest of this whole situation later.

\------------------------------

James ended up being fifteen minutes late to work. Natasha didn’t say anything to him about it when she walked in but only shot a glance at the clock to let him know that she noticed. James was still a little too frazzled by his whole morning to honestly care.

Hydra wasn’t going to be coming for him.

James had waited until he heard the shower start upstairs before snagging Steve’s phone to make the call back to Hydra. He punched in the number, same as always, and waited for the beep telling him to give his information. What he got instead was a robotic voice that somewhat smugly informed him that the number wasn’t in service. He may or may not have been reading something in to programmed voice, but to him it radiated smug satisfaction in ruining his life.

There wasn’t any other way for him to even reach out to them. And just walking to someone and saying “Oh, hi. I’m the missing special agent from Hydra and I don’t actually have amnesia and am not actually crazy.” was not going to be as convincing as he hoped. Plus, there were probably still people out there trying to kill him. Maybe. He hadn’t seen them since moving in with Steve.

Which was turning in to be problematic in ways that James didn’t expect, even with how their relationship started. He actually _liked_ Steve’s kids. And then there had been that moment with Steve. Moments, actually. Plural. The kitchen and the shower. And at least James knew that he hadn’t made them up because Steve had become an awkward mess after each of them. It was kind of adorable, which really didn’t help any of James’s situation.

His kidnapper/husband was adorable. James was an idiot. And it was a good thing that he didn’t hate everything about this life because it looked like it wasn’t ending any time soon.

“You look like you’re a million miles away today.” Natasha told him, nudging his shoulder with her own. “Don’t take of a finger while you’re working, okay?”

James had to think way too hard to find words for a response. “I won’t. Thanks. Weird morning.”

“Weird how?” She asked. James just shrugged.

“I don’t know how to explain it all, honestly.” He told her. And that was true.

“Try me.” She insisted.

It’s not like he could tell her what was going on.

But maybe he could tell her at least a little piece of it. Just get it off his chest.

“Things are really weird with Steve.” James admitted. And it was true. “And while I’m complaining, the whole rest of my life is a mess as well. It’s not mine. Not yet. It’s not even that I don’t like it. But it feels fake, you know. And Steve is trying, but I can feel that I don’t fit into his set up. I feel like an outsider living somebody else’s life.”

And all of that was true. Mostly because he _was_ living a fake life. But the frustration was real. Maybe even a little more than he realized when he started ranting at her. Natasha just stared at him.

“Alright, that’s idiotic.” She told him, rolling her eyes.

Not the response that he’s expected from her. He went to protest, but she held up a finger.

“I’m not even going to get in to all of the reasons why.” She told him. “But you’re dumb.”

James just blinked at her. “Um. Okay?”

“Actually, it’s going to bug me if I don’t.” She told him, tossing her knife back on to the table. “Did you expect things to be normal with Steve? You don’t remember normal.”

She had a point there. “I don’t.’

“And how would you know if things don’t feel fake?” She asked him. “You don’t remember that either.”

And another point. Sort of. “I feel like I would know.”

“And how would you know that?” She challenged.

This was where not being able to shout at her that he remembered what normal life was not being in Steve’s house. That the moment when Steve had put his hands in James’ this morning had absolutely not been normal. If he’d thought it was normal- or if he thought he’d be escaping soon- that would be one thing. And maybe he’d be a little calmer. Instead he slammed a hand on counter. Natasha didn’t flinch or jump backwards. Instead she just looked at him with pity.

“You seemed to have a good hand on thing the other night.” She said gently. “You almost looked happy when we all went to the fair.”

James shook his head. “Things made a little more sense then.”

“Did something happen between you and Steve?” She asked him. She sounded unsure.

“No.” James said firmly. It wasn’t supposed to sound as forceful as it did. He looked down at the counter. “He’s a great guy. The twins are amazing. It’s just…complicated.”

Because he was lying to them all. And technically kidnapped. “Because of the memory thing?”

“Yeah.” James looked away. If Natasha saw his hesitation, she didn’t let on about it. Instead she looked over her shoulder and smiled gently.

“You have a lot going on.” She said with a nod. “But at least he comes to visit for lunch every day.”

James spun. Steve had just walked in and was leaning against the side of the booth that he usually sat in. When he saw James notice him, he gave a shy little smile and wave. James turned back to Natasha and swallowed. He didn’t have to ask her to keep their conversation just between them. She just shrugged and nodded at him to leave it all unsaid. James appreciated it deeply. He set his knife down and walked out to where Steve was sitting. Weird or not, he liked having lunch with Steve every day.

\------------------------------

“Did you make it to Fury today?” Natasha asked Steve later. He was in his bedroom whispering while Bucky put the twins to bed. He leaned up near the door and listened to see how that was going. From the sound of it they were getting really close to the end of an epic bedtime story.

“Yeah, I did.” He admitted.

“And what did he say?” She pressed.

“Stark liked the pictures of the first painting.” Steve told him. “Well, Pepper liked them. But Fury still wants the next two before he’ll let me come back full time.”

Natasha made a small noise. “And how are those going?”

Steve groaned as a way of responding.

“Sounds productive.” She laughed. Steve just made another longer, more frustrated noise.

The truth was he was thinking about abandoning the second piece- which was just the defiant portrait of a young boy. It just wasn’t sitting well with him for whatever reason. It wasn’t right. The look was off. He hadn’t had time to even go in to the studio. And now Bucky would be going to bed soon. And Steve was exhausted. Steve forced himself not to tell Natasha that, though, because she would worry. Steve had thought it would only take a couple weeks to get the paintings done. But Steve just wasn’t working fast enough. He wasn’t good enough.

“Stop beating yourself up.” Natasha snapped over the phone. “And talk to your husband sometime, okay?”

Steve stopped what he was going. “Natasha, he’s not my husband.”

She huffed at him.

“He’s the man I kidnapped from a hospital because I’m a monster.” Steve said in a sharp whisper. Natasha started laughing at him.

“You’re always so dramatic.” She told him. “I just meant talk to Bucky. James. Whoever he is.”

It was Steve’s turn to huff. “I just need to get these done so he can get out of here.”

“You’re still pretending that you don’t like having him there?” She challenged. Steve rolled his eyes.

“He’s been here a week.” He reminded her. Natasha didn’t say anything. “Maybe he’s not the jerk that I thought he was. But he’s still not my husband. And I’m still a kidnapper.”

He could practically hear Natasha roll her eyes. “You are a pair of idiots.”

Steve wasn’t exactly about to disagree with her. Instead he just hung up the phone and tossed it on to his bed. The noise from across the hall told him that there had been a slight detour on the bedtime story tour Bucky was giving the twins. Smiling, he went to the door to join in so that the twins would get to sleep some time before midnight.

\------------------------------

James finally went to step out of the twin’s bedroom and almost walked directly into Steve. It was hard to say which of them reacted more awkwardly. James stumbled awkwardly, but Steve did that whole bashful stare at the floor to avoid looking at him thing.

“I was just coming to see how bedtime was going.” Steve explained.

“It went a little off the rails but I think we got there.” James told him with a grin.

Mostly because Wanda had sharply told Pietro it was time to sleep. But James wasn’t going to admit that he’d needed her help to get things back under control. He’d much prefer having Steve under the impression that he was at least a semi-passable parent. At least for a little while longer. Steve just nodded to himself and scratched the back of his neck.

“If you wanted to paint for a little while, I was going to watch some TV.” James continued. “So you don’t have to worry about keeping me awake.”

Steve just nodded. “Thanks.”

“How’s the painting going?” James asked him. Steve laughed and looked up at him.

“You’re not checking out the progress out in the garage?” Steve asked him.

“I figured you might feel differently than me about it.” James told him with a shrug. He was surprised to see the way Steve seemed to cave inward when they talked about his painting. They were so good that Steve should have been insanely proud of them. “I know that what you’ve gotten done is beautiful.”

Steve actually blushed. He barely managed a mumbled insistence of humbleness. “Thanks.”

“So, can we talk?” James asked him. “Because I don’t remember anything still. And I’d like to know you.”

Steve seemed to buy it. He looked down at Steve all earnestly and just nodded a few times. James knew it was only half untrue. He _didn’t_ remember, but it was because he’d never known any of it in the first place. They both made their way down the stairs where James grabbed the pitcher of iced tea and glasses before gesturing for Steve to follow him out to the garage.

“You can work while we talk.” James told him. Steve just nodded and followed along, smiling indulgently. When they got in to the garage Steve settled onto the stool while Bucky leaned against the table. It was behind the canvas so Bucky couldn’t see what Steve was painting, but he figured that Steve might be more comfortable that way.

“So.” Bucky started, pouring two glasses. “Talk to me about painting. When did you start?”

Steve’s mouth open and closed a few times before he took a deep breath and settled in to a small smile.

“Well.” Steve started with a shrug. “When you grow up tiny and sick, you don’t exactly get in to sports.”

Bucky laughed at the mental image of a tiny Steve. “Tell me more.”

\------------------------------

It was after one in the morning when Steve was finally finished painting. And he hadn’t even slowed down once Bucky went to bed. Their conversation had been insanely easy once Steve had gotten in the rhythm of not overthinking what he was saying and just enjoying talking about his childhood. He hadn’t had a reason to tell anyone about his mom for a long time. Natasha had known Sarah and Sam hadn’t ever asked. There had been a few questions about grandparents from the twins when they’d first arrived but there wasn’t a soft way to tell nine year old kids about his mother dying of cancer.

The portrait he ended up painting had been hers.

He rubbed at his face, entirely exhausted, and admired the finished piece. It was good. He could admit that much. He’d captured a certain glint that just really encapsulated who Sarah Rogers was as a person. It made his chest ache for missing her.

“Hi, mom.” He whispered to the canvas.

Belatedly he realized he didn’t want to send this one to Tony. It didn’t feel like one to share.

Instead, Steve set it to the side and put the portrait of the small boy back on the easel. He’d finish that one in the morning. But he needed to get in to his bed immediately before he ended up passing out on the floor of the garage. Again.

He stood and went about rinsing his brushes in the sink in the corner. He tried to move as quietly as possible since Bucky was sleeping in the cot in the corner. Steve glanced over his shoulder to where the other man was sleeping and smiled. There was a small tug in Steve’s gut that he recognized as guilt. He needed to tell Bucky the truth. This lie had gone on long enough. And it wasn’t like Steve had expected him to be a decent human being when he got here. That’s why he’d been forced to sleep outside in the garage. But he’d been great. He deserved better than some fake family in the middle of nowhere. He probably had a real family somewhere waiting for him to come home.

Steve wondered if he should call them too. Maybe the easiest way to ease the sting of the betrayal would be to have his family meet him. And then it could be fast. They’d show up, Bucky’s bags would be packed, and then Bucky would leave with them. The whole thing would be over. Steve would find a way to make it work. To pay Fury back and get him his paintings. To still make rent. Support the kids. Get CPS off of his back.

He was going to have to make it work. He’d rather struggle than keep hurting a good man.

What did it even say about him that he’d enjoyed having Bucky here?

Steve stopped beating himself up long enough to grab the iPad from the counter. It was odd, because he could have sworn he’d left it on the charger, but he must have forgotten moving it. Steve could look up James Hubbard easily enough. Rich assholes loved talking about themselves. There had to be something about him online that would give Steve a way to let his family known that he’d found them.

His first search ‘James Hubbard’ came up with some random obituaries for a man in Indiana.

The second search ‘James Hubbard Businessman’ came up equally empty. That was odd.

Thinking back, Steve remembered the name of the company that had been hosting the party. The logo on the towel the James had thrown at him. So he amended his search to read ‘James Hubbard Kronos’ and waited for results to pop up.

Ninety percent of the responses weren’t in English. And the others were for defunct social media profiles. There was one website left standing that had a weird picture as a header- a stock photo of a bland landscape- and pretty much nothing else. No specifics. An ‘About Us’ page led to a list which had James Hubbard listed as CEO. But no contact information. No specifics as to what exactly their business was. Steve just scratched at his chin. There was nothing there.

The page went to reload and then disappeared. Error 404- webpage not found. Steve went back to google and searched just ‘Kronos’ this time and got nothing. Trying to add James Hubbard now came up with nothing but gibberish sites. There was nothing substantial about the company at all. Which wasn’t unheard of, even in this technological age, but was definitely strange for a man of the means that Steve had seen when they met. No Instagram showing dozens of sports cars and models? No Fortune 500 profile displaying an abundance of both arrogance and wealth?

Because it didn’t sit right with him and he didn’t trust his own judgement this late (or early?), Steve used the messaging feature to send a note to Natasha.

 _Something is weird about Bucky/James_. He sent her. _Can’t find anything on Kronos either_.

Her response was weirdly fast. _Go to sleep, Steve. It’s 3 in the morning._

Steve hadn’t realized how much time he’d spent Googling. He rubbed his face and forced himself to put the iPad away and go to bed. This would all make more sense in the morning, he was sure. Steve just needed to sleep on it. Surely, there was some completely normal and innocuous explanation.

\------------------------------

James was up around 4. He’d had the lock broken since his first night in the garage, so heading back into the house wasn’t all that difficult. And it turned out that Steve hadn’t even remembered to lock the door when he went back in to the house after painting, so there hadn’t even been a lock to pick.

His first instinct was to go for the phone Steve left charging on the kitchen counter.

He dialed the number again, just out of habit, and got the same disconnected message. James was still having trouble believing it was real, so he called it four more times before giving up. He deleted the calls from the recent history and tossed the phone back on to the counter.

The next step was the iPad. There were no new news for anyone named James Hubbard. In fact, some of the news items that had been there the day before had been scrubbed. When he searched for the shell corporation Hydra had set up for the op, Kronos, there was also nothing. The websites and background the IT team had put together for him had disappeared practically overnight.

It was becoming distressingly clear that Hydra wasn’t going to be coming for him. He just didn’t understand _why_. Did they think he’d been compromised?

The phone started ringing on the counter. It buzzed loudly enough that James jumped in the dark room and swore silently because god _damn_ he knew better than to jump like that. He yanked it back off the charge and saw that a blocked number was calling. Without even thinking about it, Bucky answered.

“Hello?” He answered gruffly.

“The asset is to stand down.” The voice- distorted and metallic- told him sharply.

“I don’t know what’s going on.” He snapped angrily. “I am compromised and need extraction.”

“The asset is to stand down to avoid compromising the integrity of the operation.” The voice insisted.

“I was the operation. It’s compromised. I’m compromised. The whole thing is off.” James explained.

There was a long pause.

“Negative.”

Another pause.

“Provide location.”

Why did they need that? James didn’t understand. Then it clicked. He hadn’t given his address. He hadn’t told them. He was calling from a cell phone and not a landline. But the only reason they would need that was if they were planning to come after him. If he was a loose end. Which wouldn’t be Hydra. There was a sick pit in his stomach that reminded him he’s never given them his confirmation code or clearance credentials.

This wasn’t Hydra.

He disconnected the call, realizing that they were probably trying to trace it. It must be Dottie or whoever she was working with coming for him. Maybe Abramovich. They were trying to eliminate him. Still. Which he’d known but having the proof was a little bit terrifying.

Especially because he’d now given them Steve’s number.

\------------------------------

James was up around 4. He’d had the lock broken since his first night in the garage, so heading back into the house wasn’t all that difficult. And it turned out that Steve hadn’t even remembered to lock the door when he went back in to the house after painting, so there hadn’t even been a lock to pick.

His first instinct was to go for the phone Steve left charging on the kitchen counter.

He dialed the number again, just out of habit, and got the same disconnected message. James was still having trouble believing it was real, so he called it four more times before giving up. He deleted the calls from the recent history and tossed the phone back on to the counter.

The next step was the iPad. There were no new news for anyone named James Hubbard. In fact, some of the news items that had been there the day before had been scrubbed. When he searched for the shell corporation Hydra had set up for the op, Kronos, there was also nothing. The websites and background the IT team had put together for him had disappeared practically overnight.

It was becoming distressingly clear that Hydra wasn’t going to be coming for him. He just didn’t understand _why_. Did they think he’d been compromised?

The phone started ringing on the counter. It buzzed loudly enough that James jumped in the dark room and swore silently because god _damn_ he knew better than to jump like that. He yanked it back off the charge and saw that a blocked number was calling. Without even thinking about it, Bucky answered.

“Hello?” He answered gruffly.

“The asset is to stand down.” The voice- distorted and metallic- told him sharply.

“I don’t know what’s going on.” He snapped angrily. “I am compromised and need extraction.”

“The asset is to stand down to avoid compromising the integrity of the operation.” The voice insisted.

“I was the operation. It’s compromised. I’m compromised. The whole thing is off.” James explained.

There was a long pause.

“Negative.”

Another pause.

“Provide location.”

Why did they need that? James didn’t understand. Then it clicked. He hadn’t given his address. He hadn’t told them. He was calling from a cell phone and not a landline. But the only reason they would need that was if they were planning to come after him. If he was a loose end. Which wouldn’t be Hydra. There was a sick pit in his stomach that reminded him he’s never given them his confirmation code or clearance credentials.

This wasn’t Hydra.

He disconnected the call, realizing that they were probably trying to trace it. It must be Dottie or whoever she was working with coming for him. Maybe Abramovich. They were trying to eliminate him. Still. Which he’d known but having the proof was a little bit terrifying.

Especially because he’d now given them Steve’s number.

\------------------------------

”Just talk to him.” Natasha told him directly.

“I am. But-”

“Talk to him.” She interrupted, pointing a finger at him sternly.

“But.”

“Talk to him. Talk to him. Talktohimtalktohimtalktohim.” She chanted, plugging her ears so she couldn’t hear him try to keep going. Steve groaned and leaned back in his chair. They were at her kitchen table drinking coffee strong enough to erode stomach lining. It would maybe be enough to keep Steve awake all day.

“I’m going to.” Steve insisted when she finally stopped. He went to continue, but stopped at her warning glare. She rolled her eyes and tossed another mini muffin at him.

“You’re being stupid. I keep telling you you’re being stupid.” She was shaking her head.

“I was trying to do the right thing.” Steve pointed out. He accidentally sprayed muffin everywhere.

“Right for who?” She asked. “I think you’re forcing yourself on to some kind of moral high ground when this is really more of a morally grey area.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You think buying eggs is a morally grey area.”

“If you’d watched the video clip I sent you about chicken farming, you would too.” She snapped.

He’d outlined the whole thing for her. Even redid the searches so that she could see for herself that there was nothing there. It just didn’t make any sense. Natasha had just shrugged, suggested that Bucky was a fraud, and kept making her little muffins. While they were delicious, Steve didn’t see how that was particularly helpful.

“He wouldn’t remember even if I did show it to him.” Steve complained after a minute.

“I thought you definitely were going to talk to him?” Natasha questioned. Steve rolled his eyes.

“But why? Because all it would do is stress him out more.” Steve reasoned. “His amnesia makes this a lot more complicated. How would he even be able to explain it? It would just give us all more questions.”

Natasha nodded along with him. “You know who I’m going to suggest you ask for help.”

“No.” Steve said immediately. “I’m not going to Stark with this.”

Natasha made a face. “I was going to say Sam. Why would you go to Stark?”

“He has all those clearances and things, I don’t know.” Steve threw his hands in the air. “When I think covert secrecy and shady business dealings, I think Tony Stark. Not our resident carrier pigeon.”

Natasha snorted. “You know I’m going to tell him you called him that.”

“Feel free.” Steve groused. Sam hadn’t been in touch at all since moving out. Steve had figured he’d need a little bit of honeymoon time with Riley, but it kind of hurt that Steve went from seeing him every day to not seeing him for a week and a half. Maybe because Sam had made such a big deal about Steve ‘treating Sam like he was family’. Steve guessed he meant family more in the sense of the distant aunts and uncles you only see at Christmas and Easter.

Natasha tossed a muffin at his face. “Lets focus on one pseudo-husband at time, alright?”

\------------------------------

James spotted the trouble table as soon as they walked in. A group of ‘Ladies Who Lunch’ with pinched faces and poufy peroxide blonde hair. He could see the hostess deflate when they asked to dine in instead of carry out. He assumed it wasn’t the first time this particular group had decided to grace Stanley’s with their presence.

“Take table 9.” Natasha nodded to him. He didn’t have to ask to know that it was the ladies.

“Alright.” He nodded, not planning on arguing with Natasha about it.

And maybe he was just in the mood to have someone who he could reasonably take his mood out on.

He wiped his hands off on a towel and grabbed an order pad from the counter before heading over to them. About five steps away he forced on his Customer Smile™, which was the largest concession he was willing to make for them. As he walked up, the woman who was clearly the de facto leader of their little lunch club scowled at him.

“I hope you’re not planning on touching our food.” She said sharply. James stopped in his tracks.

“Excuse me?” He asked her. Her friends all giggled behind their hands. One of them gasped.

“Debra.” They laughed in a loud whisper. “You should at least let the poor man take our orders.”

James did not get paid enough for this shit. His smile stayed in place. “My name’s Bucky and I’ll be your server this afternoon. Can I get you ladies started with something to drink?”

“No.” Debra said quickly. She shook her head emphatically, but her hair didn’t even move.

“Okay?” James just stared at her. He was still partly trying to figure out how her hair did that. The ladies all just stared at him right back. He really, really didn’t get paid enough to put up with this is. “So, a round of waters for the table.”

“You don’t, like,” Debra paused, made a vague gesture at the table and winced. “Make the food, right?”

He just continued to stare. “I do prep work occasionally, but not typically, no.”

“Good.” She nodded a few times. “And when you do the prep work, you wear like…cover…right?”

James thought he saw where this was going. “I wear hair nets and tie my hair back in the kitchen when I need to, ma’am.

“Good. Good, good.” She was still nodding. Her eyes glanced downwards and James realized that he hadn’t quite guessed correctly. It hadn’t been his hair that she was worried about. When she noticed that he caught her staring at his arm, she sighed. “And gloves? I’ve just heard that metal surfaced can hold germs unless cleaned properly. And I don’t know what products you use to clean…it.”

James had a to take a minute and cast his eyes upward to ask God for patience.

“Yes, ma’am, I assure you it meets all Health Department codes and standards.” James promised her.

It may have been a lie. Potentially. But it wasn’t like his prosthetic wasn’t kept clean. He just had no idea what the standards were besides that. It wasn’t something he’d really ever had the need to look in to further to get the details. This wasn’t exactly a path he saw his life going down.

“Are you sure though?” Debra asked. At this point, all of her friends had stopped giggling.

“Debra, he’s fine.” One of the other ladies hissed. The rest of them all shifted in their seats awkwardly.

“So,” James cleared his throat and tried again. “Can I get you ladies started with something to drink?”

Before Debra could do anything one of the other ladies quickly, and loudly, shouted at him. “Beer.”

He bit back a laugh and nodded.

“Did you have a specific kind in mind or…?” He pressed. The lady’s face turned pink.

“Bud Light is fine, thanks.” She told him. “And a water, please.”

Debra had gone five minutes without talking and interjected to avoid it killing her. “Water for the table.”

“Yes, ma’am. Right away.” James turned and headed to the drink station behind the counter where the women couldn’t see him. He needed to be out of the view for a couple seconds. When he got there, he turned to where Natasha was standing and watching him with a gigantic grin and gave her the finger.

She just responded with a thumbs up.

“I hate you.” He mouthed over to her. Natasha laughed.

Some of the customers must have realized what was going on because Natasha dropped the smile quickly and waved out towards the dining floor. James finished filling up the waters and walked over with the fully loaded tray to unload.

The entire table was gone. Natasha just looked over at him and shrugged.

“I sense a bad Yelp review coming from that one.” He told her.

“I look forward to it.” Natasha snorted. “I can’t imagine it will be any more intelligent than her talking.”

James snorted. Then he sighed and looked down at his tray. “Want a water?”

“I don’t know.” She made a face, looking at the try. “You didn’t, like, make it yourself. Did you?”

James laughed hard enough the tray almost toppled over. He sighed and took the whole thing back to the drink station. Luckily Kate was able to snag a couple for one of her tables but the rest of them ended up being wasted. A few minutes later Natasha walked over to him.

“You’ve got a call on the main line.” She told him.

“It’s not the health inspector, is it?” He asked, assuming she was teasing him. But she looked concerned.

“It’s the school.” She admitted. “I’m listed as a caregiver for when they can’t reach Steve. You are too. And they are apparently requesting you specifically come to the phone. They wanted to talk to you about something to do with Wanda.”

“Dad Bucky, reporting for duty.” He said with a salute.

But James had to admit it felt really, really weird answering the phone. “Hi, This is Mr. Rogers.”

Really, really weird.

“Hi, this is Bucky?” A woman asked. “I have Wanda here and she wants to talk to you.”

\------------------------------

Steve walked in to the restaurant to meet Bucky for lunch but found Natasha standing at the counter looking at him in confusion. He looked around and didn’t see Bucky anywhere. Instead of taking his usual booth by the front corner he wandered up to the counter where she was working.

“Where’s Bucky?” He asked her. She raised an eyebrow.

And she didn’t answer.

“You’re really not going to tell me where my husband is?” He asked her. Natasha sighed.

“Do you know how exhausting it is to be in the middle of your domestic drama?” She asked him.

“How is this my fault?” He asked her, more than a little bit indignant. “If I remember correctly, the kidnapping in the first place wasn’t my idea.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I thought he was a jerk. And I didn’t expect you to go all soft about it.”

Steve had spent the first six hours of his day working on the top of a scaffold with the paint sprayer. It wasn’t really conducive to what most people would consider to be a ‘good mood’. So while Kate giggled with Natasha about Steve being apparently ‘so Soap Opera’, Steve just glared at them both.

“Natasha.” He snapped finally. “Tell me where my husband went.”

She rolled her eyes again. “It was something to do with Wanda and the school. He went to get her.”

“What?!” Steve shouted. Natasha winced. Immediately, she held up a hand to get him to stop.

“Okay, so I’m going to start by telling you that we both knew you were going to react this way, which is why we decided not to tell you.” Natasha told him. Steve didn’t even know to respond to that. His best friend and his husband conspiring against him when it came to his children didn’t feel great. “Wanda is fine. The problem wasn’t something all your righteousness and Dad Mode was going to solve.”

Steve nodded a few times. “So he’s not here. And he’s alone with the kids. Took Wanda out of school.”

“He babysits the kids all the time.” Natasha pointed out, rolling her eyes. Steve ignored her.

“How could you let him go and do that? Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t the school call me?”

“Steve.” Natasha snapped at him. Steve’s jaw shut audibly. “You’re scaring my customers. Breathe. In and out like a big boy. Wanda asked for Bucky. It was kind of cute, actually.”

Steve did admit he melted a little bit. But it also stung. “She asked for Bucky?”

“Stop.” Natasha told him, smiling at him.

“I’ll try.” He nodded. Natasha waited a beat and then sighed.

“Want to help me for a minute since you’re husband bailed early?” She asked him hopefully. Steve laughed for a minute before nodding silently and grabbing an apron from under the counter. Natasha just handed him some orders to start filling wordlessly. They worked in the quiet for a few minutes while Steve stewed over the whole situation.

“If you last fifteen minutes without calling him, I’ll give you a pizza to take home for free.”

Steve pouted at the callout. But after a moment, he smirked.

“Make it two.”

Natasha hadn’t remembered that Bucky didn’t even have a phone at the house.

\------------------------------

Given that James had walked directly in to enemy encampments without even breaking into a nervous sweat, he hadn’t expected picking up a child from an elementary school to really be all that nerve wracking. But they’d taken his photo and had him sign in to their system. He’d practically given up and run away when the woman had started pushing forms at him.

But then Wanda had come around the corner and cheered when she saw him. “Daddy!”

“Hey, bug.” He smiled down at her. The woman behind the desk laughed as Wanda slammed into his legs. He was glad she thought it was funny because he nearly ended up on the floor.

“Thank you for coming.” She told him. Wanda was still giggling. “Someone was having a rough morning.”

James looked down at the perfectly fine little girl wrapped around his legs. “I thought you were sick.”

She had the decency to fake a cough for him.

“According to the nurse she was feeling very, very sick to her stomach fifteen minutes ago.” The lady behind the front desk told James. But when she looked over at James, the look on her face was clear that everyone knew she’d been faking. James sighed.

“You’re not going to tell Papa, are you?” Wanda whispered over to him. James melted.

“Let’s go. You seem so sick. We’ll probably have to give you a whole lot of medicine.” He told her.

Wanda’s face paled. “Not the icky tasting medicine though, right?”

“Oh, only the most despicable tasting medicine would work in a case like this.” James told her gravely, shaking his head. Wanda looked ready to go back to class, she was so distressed. “And lots and lots of it. To make sure that we got you all the way better, you know.”

Wanda’s bottom lip started to jut out.

“But I don’t like it.” She told him. James and the woman behind the desk shared conspiratorial grins.

“Oh, but if you’re sick you have to take all of it.” She insisted. “And no sweets.”

James almost had to tell her the truth right there because she looked devastated.

“Alright, bug. No medicine. But we’re going to have to tell daddy why you left school.” James told her. Wanda looked equally nervous about this prospect. “You still feeling sick?”

Wanda considered for a moment. “Yes.”

It was easier from there to finish the paperwork and sign the forms the nice lady behind the desk- Darcy-asked him to fill out. He and Wanda were out the door fifteen minutes later headed back towards the house. And James was going to need to leave to pick up Pietro in another two hours. He had that long until he needed some sort of excuse for Steve as to why he’d taken their youngest (by a minute or two) out of school without calling him first.

No pressure.

\------------------------------

Steve walked in to the house with two pizzas but didn’t go much further than that. Mostly because he couldn’t. The entire living and dining rooms were taken over by piles of blankets and pillows that had been formed in to a gigantic fort. It looked like they had stolen literally every single pillow, blanket, and moveable piece of furniture in the entire house for its construction. They’d even strung some kind of bungee cord from the living room light fixture to create some kind of big top in front of where the TV used to be. Given the noise coming from beneath it, Steve would assume that was the main hub of activity. Currently some delighted shrieks were warring with what sounded like an episode of Spongebob Squarepants or something.

“Is anybody home?” He called over the noise.

The noise immediately died down.

“Steve?” Bucky asked. He could hear Wanda giggling next to him.

“Yeah, it’s me. I come baring pizzas but only have a few minutes.” Steve told them. He did have to get back to work soon. He’d told Fury he needed to check on Wanda, but that he’d be back soon. Maybe he’d failed to mention that he was checking on her with pizza because she’d called her fake-dad to come pick her up from school.

“Pizza!” The cheer was loud enough to split eardrums, which made Steve feel bad for Bucky being closer.

Wanda practically took down a wall on her way out of the fort. Steve laughed. When she came out, Bucky crawled (much more calmly) behind her. He also seemed much more guilty than Wanda did.

“She said she was sick.” Bucky told him quickly. Steve nodded a few times. He looked over at Wanda.

“So, were you avoiding a test or a teacher?” He asked her. Wanda said nothing and shrugged.

“I was sick.” Wanda insisted. But she was staring at the ground. Steve looked over to Bucky.

Bucky shrugged as if he completely bought in to the idea. “She insisted that she really didn’t feel well.”

“Uh huh.” Steve said, skeptically.

“What kind of pizza did you bring us?” Wanda asked, changing the subject abruptly. Steve sighed and set both boxes down on to the closest flat surface that wasn’t taken over for pillow fort construction. “Can I have some of it now?”

Steve shook his head. “The pizza is for dinner.”

With the option of pizza off the table, Wanda’s interest faded. She went back into the fort where the TV was still playing another episode of some show that she loved. Bucky and Steve were left in the foyer, facing each other awkward. After a minute of silence, Bucky caved.

“She really didn’t want to go back.” Bucky told him. “It seemed harmless. I’m sorry if it’s a problem.”

Steve forced himself to stop scowling and shook his head. “I think it’s more that she called you.”

He was surprised that he admitted that to Bucky. Bucky smiled. “I think she knew which one of us was the bigger sucker. You’d have made her go back to class.”

“Probably.” Steve admitted with a laugh.

“Though you did show up with pizza.” Bucky pointed out, laughing with him.

“I couldn’t get too far behind in the fun dad race.” Steve told him with a smirk.

“Do you have to go back to work or can you hang out for a bit?” Bucky asked him. Steve shrugged. He should go back right away. Probably should have gone back twenty minutes ago instead of driving home. But something about the look on Bucky’s face made him reconsider.

“For a minute or two.” He told him.

“Great.” Bucky smiled. “Let me give you a tour of our fort.”

Steve ended up under the big top- where he saw the TV had actually been placed on the floor for optimum view angles. And, as Bucky whispered to him when Wanda was distracted, in lessened the chances of the TV getting broken in the event of a structural collapse. Steve appreciated the forethought. But it was hot in their little room, and it was only made worse by the addition of Wanda curled on his lap and Bucky tucked to his side. Wanda had insisted they all pile together.

It wasn’t awkward at all.

There was no way this wasn’t excruciatingly painful in very new and inventive ways that Steve was in no way able to deal with.

Bucky’s head dropped to Steve’s shoulder. He must have caved to the general sleepy ambiance of the children’s show, warmth, and pillows. Steve didn’t hate the way it felt, curled up under the fort on a lazy afternoon watching cartoons with his kid and his husband.

The only problem that he could find was that it wasn’t his husband and the close proximity was making him increasingly aware of that fact. As well as all of the reasons that he was very much going to hell for being a horrible human being. Steve tensed.

“You gotta go back to work?” Bucky mumbled into his shoulder. Steve swallowed and nodded.

“Yeah.” He managed.

“Hand me the little one.” He said, voice thick with sleep. Steve glanced down and saw that Wanda was also out like a light. “We’ll see you later.”

It was a sweet moment. Sweeter still when Bucky angled his head upwards and pressed a small kiss to Steve’s cheek. He got the reference- he’d been doing it to Bucky to help sell the whole husband thing. But Steve hadn’t expected his own weapon to be used against him. He shot up and out of the fort, barely taking the time to shove the pizzas in the fridge on his way out of the door.

\------------------------------

James was still thinking about the previous afternoon when he got to work the next day. Steve had been entirely back to normal when he’d gotten home from work, acting as if they hadn’t spent the afternoon cuddling in a pillow foot. He maybe half-remembered a sleepy kiss on Steve’s cheek which was something he’d really prefer to forget given the great amount of Trouble™ surrounding that entire relationship. The whole afternoon had left an unsettled feeling in his stomach.

But of course Steve had been fine. He’d come home from work a few hours later and acted like everything was perfectly normal. The twins had done their homework- even Wanda despite missing her last few periods. She hadn’t wanted to change her routine. Which was fine, but it had left Steve and James alone upstairs dancing around each other as if the afternoon had been perfectly normal.

It hadn’t been. And then James had been up for several hours after Steve had gone to bed, trying to find some answers for his situation. So now he was exhausted, working on about three hours of sleep, and frustrated because nothing in his damn life was making any sense. Kronos was gone from the internet. Hydra had never been on the internet in the first place. And a much as he tried to find references to a blonde woman working for Abramovich, nothing came up.

As a result, his brain was fried and his nerves were jumpy. His whole morning had been an exercise in not letting how jittery he was feeling show on his face. And if the tips from his first few customers had said anything, it wasn’t working. Even Natasha was worried about him.

“You with us today?” Natasha asked him. She nudged his shoulder. James just nodded a few times.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded. “Did you need me to do something?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. “Just checking on you, Buck. You went a million miles away for a few minutes there.”

“Just tired today.” James lied. He cleared his throat and looked back down at the pizza he was making. It was a literal mound of cheese with a few sparse pepperonis. He sighed. It was fixable, but frustrating. Just another item on the list for an already long day.

“If you need a break, take yours early.” Natasha told him She looked concerned. “Is it your head?”

James wanted to melt in to the ground. “No, my head is fine.”

“Is it?” She pressed.

“Well, considering.” James added, hating the lie. But what was one more at this point, really?

“Maybe you should have Steve take you to the doctor?” She suggested.

“My head is fine, Natasha.” He snapped, a little harsher than intended. Natasha raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not doing such a good job at the whole convincing me your brain isn’t severely damaged front.” She told him slowly. James just rolled his eyes slightly and moved a little ways down the counter to grab another pie. He slowly started evening out the cheese levels to fix his mistake.

Natasha continued to stare at him as he worked, which didn’t help James feel any better about being an absolute fuck up all morning long. He worked on his pizzas silently, making two pepperonis out of his one lopsided mound of cheese and meat. But it worked. He popped both in to the oven to cook, still ignoring the redheaded scowling face next to him.

“Are you really not going to talk to me about it?” She asked him. James just shook his head.

“Nothing to talk about.” He insisted. Natasha rolled her eyes at him.

“Okay, Drama Queen.” She told him. Turning away to go back to her own work.

It was bad enough that James was having trouble with Steve, he didn’t really need to add Natasha to the list. He was going to have to make nice with her later to avoid it becoming a thing. Or calling Steve about it. James didn’t want that to happen either. It was probably the last thing that James really felt like dealing with currently, so if he could avoid it he was going to.

The next hour, James spent finding things to do to keep himself on the opposite side of the store from Natasha. He even voluntarily cleaned the bathrooms and took the garbage out back. But then the after lunch rush came for the Tuesday night deal and it was too busy for James to do anything but work. There was no time left for avoiding Natasha.

That was how James found himself at the counter waiting for the next round of pies to come out of the oven when he saw the two goons walked in. He froze for a moment, slightly out of practice for being on guard, but managed to spin around before they saw him. Luckily, their uniforms were long sleeved. No arm to give him away. James could watch their reflections in the stainless steel of the ovens, heading up towards the counter. He stepped in to the kitchen and hid behind the wall.

Kate was staring at him as if he had officially snapped but said nothing when James held a finger to his lips. She just rolled her eyes and continued out the door with her pizzas. James watched through the crack in the swinging door as they approached her.

“We’re looking for one of your servers.” They told her. “He’s got long brown hair. Prosthetic arm?”

Kate didn’t even slow down. “Can’t help you, sorry.”

They were here for him. They’d finally come after him. Probably to kill him. He had to get out of there.

Without a second thought, or warning to anyway, James bolted through the back door.

\------------------------------

Steve was sitting at the table across from Natasha, Clint, and Sam. They’d literally dragged the chairs from the ends of the table to the far side so that they could all stare him down across the table like it was the interrogation scene from a bad movie. The twins were already in bed. Steve was trying to quell a sick feeling in his stomach either way.

“Maybe his memories came back and he went back to his real life?” Natasha suggested.

“Maybe he stepped out for a break and had another issue with his brain?” Clint suggested.

Sam just stared at him.

“Not going to offer up an explanation?” He asked him. Sam just shook his head.

“I leave for five minutes. Five. Minutes.” Sam snapped, frustrated. “And you kidnap a man and bring him in to your house to trick him in to thinking he’s your husband. And you two idiots helped him to do it. I don’t even want to talk to any of you right now.”

Natasha and Clint had the decency to look embarrassed.

“He was an asshole.” Steve explained with a shrug.

“Yeah, yeah. Yeah. You said that. I remembered that part of the story.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “But, you know, the last time some asshole cut me off in traffic, I didn’t rear end him over it, you know. Sometimes you just got to take your lumps. You don’t get to ruin someone’s life over it.”

“It wasn’t going to be forever.” Natasha muttered, looking guilty but unrepentant.

Sam just leveled her with a look.

“Because felony kidnapping is okay as long you intend to give them back eventually.” Sam mocked.

“It was just to help with watching the kids while I finished some paintings for Fury.” Steve excused. “And it was only ever because I needed to pay Fury back after what he did to the scaffold.”

Sam sighed. “That doesn’t make it any less insane.”

“It also doesn’t solve our current problem, which is that he’s not currently being kidnapped because none of you geniuses considered that he might not cooperate with being kidnapped.

“Oops.” Clint grinned. Sam just stared at him. He opened his mouth to say something and then stopped.

“Y’all need Jesus.” Sam told them.

Steve was tired of talking it through. Natasha had called him at the end of the lunch rush to tell him that Bucky had disappeared from the shop. He’d assumed that he’d just gone home but then Wanda had called from her cell phone after nobody had met her and Pietro at the bus stop. She’d been crying because somebody was supposed to meet her. She’d been scared. It had been Steve’s priority to take care of the twins before trying to find Bucky so he’d had three hours head start before Steve had thought to start looking for him. He could literally be out of the state already if he’d gotten his memory back and decided to run for it. Or he could be at the police station reporting him for fraud.

Needless to say, the last few hours had been…interesting.

And then Sam had showed up, apparently having talked to Natasha about Steve.

So now there were trying to convince Sam that they weren’t hardened criminals or psychotic or something and at the same time Steve was torn between wanting to call the police to make sure Bucky was safe and not wanting to expose himself as the absolute worst person in existence. Besides not having the paintings done yet, Steve really didn’t want their charade to end without being able to explain himself to Bucky.

Sam stood from the table, scraping his chair back loudly against the floor as he did. Steve winced. Sam was doing his Disappointed Pacing, which was always accompanied by a Disappointed Lecture about all of the ways in which Steve had failed him.

To his surprise, the lecture was subverted by a knock at the front door.

 _Probably the police_. Steve told himself. Come to arrest him. Take away his kids.

Steve sighed and rubbed his hands against his face. He waved Sam off from answering the door to do it himself. He turned the lock, took one last breath as a free man, and opened the door. The person on the other side of it looked about as nervous as Steve felt.

“Hey.” Bucky said quietly, giving him a small wave.

“Bucky.” Steve pulled him close in to a hug. Bucky hugged him back.

“Sorry if I scared you.” Bucky told him. Steve didn’t even let him go; he just kept hugging him.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Steve told him. Bucky’s arms tightened even harder around Steve.

“Me too.” Bucky said quietly. Steve just laughed.

“I’m not the one who disappeared for the whole afternoon.” Steve admonished. Bucky smiled.

“I meant I’m also glad that I’m okay.” Bucky teased him. Steve started laughed and shook his head. He gestured for Bucky to follow him inside. He seemed to tense as soon as he realized that there were other people in the house, but relaxed after a second or two.

“You must be Sam.” Bucky smiled over at him, offering his hand. “I can’t say I remember you.”

Steve laughed. So the memories weren’t back. No police. “Sam’s been a little busy lately.”

“Yeah. Busy.” Sam couldn’t manage a smile and stayed leaned back against the counter, arms crossed.

Bucky just smiled at him uncertainly. He turned to Steve. “Are the twins okay?”

Steve couldn’t help but melt that his first thought was about the twins. He just nodded slightly. “They were worried that you weren’t here when they got off of the bus. We all were. We tried searching. I’m glad that you’re back. They’ll love to see you in the morning.”

Bucky nodded a few times, glanced at their guests and coughed awkwardly. “Can we talk in the garage?”

\------------------------------

James could feel himself shaking. It was the tension running through his entire system that he hadn’t been able to defuse since he’d sprinted out the back door of Natasha’s shop. And then he’d just kept running. He’d been scared. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Why were the Russian’s goons still coming after him? Nobody should be looking for him. At all. Much less knowing where he worked.

Steve followed him in to the garage.

“I think I was attacked.” James told him. It was the closest he could come to the truth.

“What?” Steve immediately went concerned.

“I don’t want to spread it around. I’m not sure.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Two men came in to the store today asking about me. And when I saw them, I just knew that they were trouble.”

Steve’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “Who? Who would do that?”

“I don’t know.” James admitted. Because he didn’t. And he didn’t know why.

“And you don’t know why they would be after you?” Steve pressed.

“No.” James admitted. And it was the truth. It really was.

Steve rubbed a hand across his face. He seemed to be processing it the same way James had processed it over the whole afternoon. There was nothing for him to do from there. And then, while he’d been on a bus about the take the next one out of town, he realized that whoever was after him knew where he worked. And if they knew where he worked, they knew where he lived.

And as soon as he realized that, he knew he couldn’t leave. Steve was a painter, for gods sake. The twins were children. That someone would hurt them in order to get to James made him feel sick to his stomach. So he had no choice, really, but to come back with some weak excuse and a mouth full of apologies.

“That’s terrifying.” Steve told him, looking worried. “And you think they’re who did this to you?”

James shrugged. “I think so. I don’t know. I still don’t remember.”

“That’s okay.” Steve insisted, putting a hand on James shoulder.

“I wish I had a better explanation. Answers.” James told him. And he did. If he could put an end to all of this and know that his little family was safe, he’d do that. “It’s frustrating because I just know that I am missing pieces. And if I had them, we’d know.”

Steve pulled James in for another hug. James just let him. The hug felt great, if he was being honest. His shaking slowed down. Sinking in to it, James curled in to Steve and pressed his face in to his shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay.” Steve told him gently. “We’ll figure it out.”

James laughed. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.” Steve insisted.

\------------------------------

Steve looked down at Bucky and smiled. He looked so relieved to be laughing. Steve couldn’t imagine what it felt like to see danger in a stranger’s face. To not even have a memory of them, but feel like they were there to attack him. Steve didn’t stop hugging him until he felt Bucky stop shaking and relax in his arms. Steve gave him one last hug and then finally let him go and stepped back.

“It’s gong to be fine.” Steve insisted, nodding a few times.

“I know.” He nodded. Steve smiled and squeezed Bucky’s hand. Bucky looked around him.

“I see you’re almost done with the next painting.” Bucky smiled at him. The portrait of the young boy was probably about two more sessions from being completed. “Did you get any more work on it done today? I’m sorry if I got in the way of that.”

“Stop apologizing.” Steve insisted. Bucky looked away from him, and back over to the painting.

“You’re an amazing artist, Steve.” Bucky told him quietly.

“Is this a conversation about me needing to focus on my painting?” Steve asked him. Bucky laughed and squeezed Steve’s hand back before dropping it.

“Just trying to change the subject.” Bucky admitted. He gestured to the door. “I hope you don’t mind if I don’t go back in. I’m exhausted. I just want to go to sleep.”

Steve nodded. “I’ll take care of them. You rest.”

Steve let himself back in to the kitchen. Clint, Sam, and Natasha were all clearly in the middle of an intent conversation that ended abruptly when he stepped back in to the house. All three of them looked up at Steve as if he’d caught them with their hands in the cookie jar. Steve didn’t care about that. He was shaken by Bucky’s story- someone had attacked him? Maybe? Bucky didn’t remember.

Natasha swore up and down when Steve shared the story with them. “I knew someone asked for him.”

“You did?” Steve asked her. He tried not to be frustrated. “Why didn’t you say?”

Natasha shrugged. “Two guys asked Kate about a server with a prosthetic arm.”

“Did they say why?” Steve asked her. Natasha shrugged.

“She didn’t ask. And we have a rule about discussing coworkers with our customers. We don’t. It’s a safety concern. Which is why Kate told me about it. But she didn’t think Bucky heard them. He’d been in the kitchen when they showed up. And when she went to ask him about it, we realized he was gone.” Natasha explained. The others were all staring at her.

“He doesn’t remember who they are. But he knew they were bad guys.” Steve told them.

“I don’t like it.” Sam said firmly.

“Stop.” Natasha told him warningly.

“I don’t.” Sam insisted. He shook his head and gave Steve a slightly judgmental look. “I’m going to look in to it though. As a favor. Since you’re clearly absolutely crazy about the man.”

Natasha’s cackling laughter told him none of his friends were going to take up his defense.

\------------------------------

James waited until it went quiet downstairs and light disappeared from beneath the kitchen door. At that point, James went to the side door of the garage that led out into the side yard. The door locked automatically, so James wedged it with a loose brick. Once outside he worked his way down the street towards the main corner. Three houses down on the left was a house with large hedges planted in front of it. James retrieved his go bag from there. He’d grabbed the bag when he was going to skip town but now that he was staying, it had the tools that he needed to protect Steve and his family.

On top of the Kevlar vest and weapons, it also had a sat phone- Hydra Issue- and changes of clothes. James always assumed he was wearing Steve’s hand me downs, but it was equally likely they’d borrowed Clint’s. Not that he could wear most of it without raising red flags, but it would be really nice to finally be able to wear his own underwear again.

The phone was what he was looking for. It would be the most immediately useful. He pulled it out of the bag and went to turn it on. That phone….that phone had a direct line to a person within Hydra. A human being that James could insist give him answers.

For now, the phone wasn’t turning on.

“Just my luck.” James swore at the phone. He checked the battery pack, checked the power button.

“Come on, phone.” James snapped. He knocked it against the concrete of the garage floor.

He leaned back against garage floor, dejected, and let his eyes clothes. He hadn’t lied when he told Steve that he was exhausted. He was. So he wasn’t surprised to find his eyes drifting shut when he finally gave them permission to close. He woke up to a noise from inside the house and saw the door between the house and the garage open. He stood up and made his way in to the house.

He knew, objectively, that this was a dream. He’d never seen Steve in that shirt before. It was tight and then, riding high over low slung jeans. It was on outfit that James would have only been able to dream Steve in to. It was maybe the best thing that he’d ever seen. And when he spotted James coming in to the main house, his face broke in to the wide grin he’d give James sometimes. It made James’s knees weak. And here Steve was, smiling at him.

“Come upstairs.” He whispered. James’s throat immediately closed up.

“Steve.” He managed. Steve’s hands found James’s waist.

They spent a moment entangled right there, Steve’s hands exploring and his breath hot against Steve’s neck. James let out some guttural noise that he couldn’t hold back. His brain appeared to be in conflict with the rest of his body on the reality of the position, but most of him just didn’t care. His hands felt warm and rough against his skin and James felt his hips buck slightly as Steve yanked him closer, pulling him in to a kiss that sent them sprawling back against the wall of the stairs leading up to the second floor.

“Come upstairs, James.” Steve murmured in to his neck.

A literal moan escaped from his mouth. James couldn’t help it. Steve’s lips traced a wet trail along the curve of James’ neck. He had James pinned to wall, pressing him against it firmly so that he couldn’t move, not that he was trying particularly hard to get away.

“You want to come upstairs, don’t you?” Steve asked him. He trailed a hand down, spinning James around so that they were face to face. Steve’s thigh went between James’ legs notching up just enough to make James’ hips buck embarrassingly.

“Jesus.” James gasped. He practically felt Steve’s chuckle as it reverberated through his chest.

“Not quite.” Steve told him, he pulled back and smiled down at him.

“Shut up.” James laughed. Steve shrugged, leaning down and went in for another searing hot kiss. James was left pulling Steve down harder as everything in him just wanted _more_. And when Steve pulled away James practically let out a whine he was so disappointed.

“You keep not agreeing to come upstairs.” Steve told him. “Don’t you want to come upstairs with me?”

James didn’t know why dream-him refused to answer the question. He wanted to agree but couldn’t.

“I mean.” Steve continued, leaning and starting to pull Bucky’s cotton T-Shit over his head. “If you really wanted to we could do this right here.”

James let the shirt get pulled off and smiled at Steve after it was gone. “Sounds intriguing.”

Steve let out a moan of agreement, sliding a hand along the recently uncovered skin. Then Steve bent and started tracing the path his hands took with small, staccato kisses along James’ chest. Steve’s hands came to a rest on James’ hips, practically grabbing his ass instead of his actual hips.

“The twins.” James gasped. Because Steve’s fingers were trailing the waistband of his pants and coming dangerously close to the belt buckle. James was already hard and the fact that he could practically feel Steve’s breath on the outside of his pants did nothing to help the situation. It took all of James’ willpower to say anything.

“Doesn’t matter.” Steve told him, trailing a few kisses alone the top of his pants.

“I can’t.” James whispered. “I can’t. I can’t.”

James nearly lost his resolve when Steve trailed a single finger along the zipper on his jeans. “It’s not real. It doesn’t matter.”

It was a dream. But his mind still wasn’t going to happen. Right as James reached the peak of torture, he woke up. He shot up on the floor of the garage, still surrounded by all of the items from the go bag.

Including the glowing green light of the active sat phone.

\------------------------------

Steve woke up around the same time as always. And, as was becoming normal, he heard the noises of the twins downstairs playing with Bucky over breakfast. By the time he went downstairs, the twins would be ready to go to school and Steve could drop them off on his way to work. It was a whole system that had achieved perfect in a little under two weeks.

So when he went downstairs and Bucky wouldn’t even look at him, a definite hitch in the system, it was weird. And when Bucky stammered his way through the morning goodbyes handing Steve a lunchbox- a clear indication that he wasn’t expected to come visit him at lunch that day. Steve didn’t know what to make of that. Maybe Bucky was still feeling weird about the day before. Maybe it was something else.

The scale tipped towards ‘something else’ when Bucky blushed and jerked away when Steve went to kiss him goodbye. He hadn’t even reacted like that the first time Steve had done it.

By the time he got to work, it was all bothering him. Clint seemed to pick up on it right away.

“How’s the husband feeling this morning?” He asked. Steve sighed and said nothing, stomping past him.

“At least he’s pretty.” Clint called after him.

“I hate you.” Steve called back, without any real heat behind it.

He worked the whole morning mulling it over in his mind. It was weird. So when lunch time came around, he tossed his bag lunch back in to his truck, drove to Stanley’s, and went in to his normal booth. Bucky saw him walked in and looked at him in surprise. Steve grabbed his lunch from the bag and spread it out on the table, smiling over at his husband. It took Bucky a few minutes to come over to him and sit with him at the booth.

“Hey.” He said slowly. Steve just smiled at him.

“Hey.”

“We’re actually kind of busy today. I won’t be able to hang out for long.” Bucky told him.

Steve made a point of looking around the restaurant, which had maybe two other tables occupied.

“We have…um…we have a big catering order this afternoon.” Bucky elaborated dumbly.

“I’m sure.” Steve told him, openly laughing at him. Bucky seemed to realize he was busted because he started laughing along with him. Bucky finally sighed and started shaking his head.

“Sorry, I’m being weird.” Bucky told him, shaking his head.

He stole half of Steve’s sandwich. Steve swatted at his hand, but Bucky still got it. “It’s fine. Just stop.”

“Working on it, Boss.” Bucky laughed. If it was possible to eat a sandwich smugly, Bucky was doing it.

Steve tossed a potato chip at him. Bucky just laughed at him. Steve felt better when he seemed to relax a little bit more. Bucky finally gave him a fully genuine smile a minute or two later.

“Thanks for coming today, Steve.”

\------------------------------

Lunch ended up being the highlight of his day, even if James ended it still hungry and absolutely no less conflicted in the emotional department regarding his husband. No less than three time Steve smiled at him and Bucky had moments from his dream flash before his eyes and he had to quickly think of literally anything else to avoid making lunch entirely too eventful.

Like right now. All James had done was thank Steve for stopping by and Steve smiled at him like he’d made his entire month. It wasn’t fair that a man could smile like that. It really wasn’t. At all. Bucky was forced to resort to watching Steve draw to avoid looking at his face and honestly watching Steve work wasn’t that much less attractive than watching him smile.

Bucky startled when a hand touched his. Steve was staring at him, hand hold James’ over the table. He’d clearly said something that James had missed. When Steve recognized that his eyes crinkled in amusement and the corner of his mouth twitched upward in to a smirk.

“You ignoring me?” He teased.

“So bored I nearly dozed off.” Bucky teased him. Steve laughed.

“I asked if you wanted to do something fun for dinner tonight at home with the twins.” Steve asked.

“Like what?” James asked. “Taco night?”

Steve grinned. “Taco night sounds perfect actually.”

Bucky shook his head. Not that he didn’t agree, but because Steve’s ridiculous enthusiasm for the idea was contagious and he found himself equally excited for a taco night dinner with the family. Steve was sketching out something that appeared to be a super hero punching what looked like Hitler, which was about as ridiculous as everything else about this whole thing.

“So let me get this straight.” Bucky started.

“Please don’t.” Steve quipped. Bucky snorted.

“Stop it.” Bucky waved, but they were both giggling like school children. “That was such a dad joke.”

Steve just shrugged. “They gave me a book of them with the adoption papers.”

“Helpful. Though they say the home-grown ones are so much better for the kids.” Bucky told him.

Steve actually started belly laughing and Bucky wasn’t much better.

“So, I was saying.” Bucky insisted after a minute or two. “I’m confused. You work as a commercial painting but have some douche bag in New York willing to pay big bucks for your fine art. But in your free time you’re sketching out comic book panels?”

“I scan and put them online sometimes.” Steve said with a shrug. “It’s just for fun.”

Bucky snorted. “Oh, I’m sure that’s not a successful enterprise at all. Probably gets two hits.”

“One of them is from your mom.” Steve told him automatically. The both froze. Steve realizing he might have hit on a sensitive subject, and James because he would not actually put it past Winifred Barnes to have found her sons’ faux-husband and started following his art blog.

“The other one is yours.” He snapped back. Steve burst in to laughter again.

“You know my mom’s dead.” Steve pointed out. James hadn’t known that. At least the knowledge didn’t stick in his brain, and his surprise must have shown on his face because Steve stopped too. He must have realized that Bucky hadn’t known that or remembered it. “I’m sorry. I guess I assumed it had come up. It’s hard to remember who I’ve talked about it with and it doesn’t come up often. Of course, with your memory even if you’d known.”

And like that an awkward mist fell over their lunch. They both tensed. Bucky assumed it was because Steve had inadvertently touched a sore memory by bringing up his mom. And Bucky because it was another piece of Steve that he’d have to apologize for getting dishonestly. Sure, Steve knew Bucky wasn’t his husband. But he had no idea who Bucky actually was, what he’d done, who he’d been before that morning with the champagne. And he might not like the answer to that question.

“So,” Bucky smiled at him. “Taco night?”

Steve sighed. “We’ll need the groceries. We have no taco ingredients at the house.”

“I can go to the store.” Bucky volunteered.  “Just let me know what I need to pick up.”

He didn’t like the idea of Steve being out in the open more than possible.

“Meat, cheese, shells, sauce.” Steve shrugged. “I think they sell those kit things. Just get one of those and whatever else.”

Bucky nodded and stole a napkin and Steve’s pen to write a short lest. When he noticed that Steve was watching him with an amused look on his face, Bucky shrugged nonchalantly. “My memory is not exactly the most reliable of things as of late.”

It was easier than explaining that he’d literally never made tacos in his entire life.

“And, um, what kind of taco kit do we usually get?” He asked. And he never did get an answer when Steve finally stopped laughing at him.

Which was how he ended up standing in the grocery store aisle staring at like fifteen different sizes and brands of taco kits without any idea which kind he should get. He felt like an idiot. He’d bought tampons for his younger sisters and never been faced with this kind of dilemma. Mostly because they sent him with specific size and brand requirements before he left (ever since the jumbo size Walmart brand incident of 2002).  Eventually he caved and waved down a kind soccer-mom looking woman to ask for her help with his problem.

“Which of these is the best option for a family of four?” He asked. She laughed at him, but she did help hm. Though she wavered between two sizes, which she said depended on appetites of the twins.

He was halfway out when he decided that he was wrong and wanted the bigger box. At the end of the aisle he spun the cart around and stopped dead. The goons were at the other end of the aisle, facing the other way. It looked like they were _shopping_ of all things. He just stared at them and turned away. They’d have to make do with the smaller kit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

Steve had barely gotten the twins in the door when someone knocked at it. He was surprised to see Sam on the other side of it (a) because Sam hadn’t really ever been the knocking kind and (b) he looked like he was here to tell Steve he’d accidentally run over the family dog. Steve frowned and motioned for Sam to step inside, but Sam just shook his head.

“Is Bucky here?” He asked. Steve’s frowned deepened.

“He’s at the grocery store.” Steve told him. He couldn’t help his small smile when he tacked on. “We’re having a little taco night at Casa Rogers tonight.”

Sam didn’t even mock his corny Spanish accent, so Steve knew it was serious.

“What’s going on, Sam?” He asked. Sam sighed and finally stepped inside.

“I asked around about Kronos and James Hubbard at work. Used our database, probed some of my more connected bosses. And here’s the thing, none of them wanted to talk to me about it.” Sam shook his head again and pulled two files out of the inside of his jacket. “Which of course means that there’s something to not talk about. So I kept going. And I searched for this James Hubbard directly.”

Steve crossed his arms. “I’m assuming you found something or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Steve, he’s not a good man.” Sam told him urgently. Steve glanced to see if the twins overheard.

“I don’t think you need to be so dramatic.” Steve chided. “He’s been here for almost two weeks and he’s been fine. The kids love him. He’s out doing our grocery shopping for Christ’s sake.”

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I’m not saying he’s the devil incarnate.”

“Sam.” Steve’s tone was a warning.

“Why are you do defensive of some man who was literally so awful to you that you committed a felony to get back at him?” Sam snapped. He dropped the two files on the coffee table and pointed at them. “Before you go claiming I’m being dramatic read these.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You can’t just tell me what they say?”

“James Hubbard didn’t exist a year ago.” Sam told him.

“What?” Steve asked.

“Look at the documents. Some of them are dated earlier. It’d be convincing if I didn’t know better but someone created James Hubbard as a very convincing business mogul, shady business dealings and all, about thirteen months ago. There’s no concrete trace of him before then.” Sam’s arms were crossed in front of his chest and his mouth had straightened in to a tight line. Steve’s mouth dropped open.

“Who was he before then?” Steve asked. Sam shrugged.

“Great question. I have no idea.” Sam scratched his chin. “And nobody I talked to did either. He was a ghost before then. As far as we can tell, he didn’t exist.”

Steve’s stomach started tying itself in knots. “And he won’t remember either. The amnesia.”

He trailed off. Sam just shook his head. Steve settled on to the couch and put his head in his hands because it had started pounding. He didn’t know what to do. Sam sat down on the couch next to him and put a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Just take a look at it.” Sam told him. “Like you said, he’s been here two weeks. I don’t think you’re in any danger. He’s just-”

Steve scoffed. “Danger?”

“Steve.”

“He’s got no life for us to help him back to now.” Steve told him. Realization seemed to dawn on Sam that Steve wasn’t concerned for himself, but for Bucky. “We’ve removed him from the hospital. I thought I’d be able to tell him ‘oh, hey, here you go. here’s your life back’ and go on my way. But now we don’t even know what that life is.”

Sam laughed to himself. “You’re something else. You don’t even know him.”

“He’s not evil. Or dangerous. I know him.” Steve insisted.

“I’ll see what I can find for you.” Sam told him, nodding his head multiple times in a row quickly.

“I know him.” Steve insisted. Sam just smiled and stood, walking out without saying anything else.

Steve was left in the living room staring at the two thick folders sitting on the coffee table. He didn’t want to touch them. Somehow it was like they were contaminated and he couldn’t bring himself to get infected. He didn’t even want to know. It wasn’t like he’d brought Bucky in to his house with the utmost trust and confidence. The man slept locked in his damn garage.

He was still there when, twenty minutes later, he heard the twins start to stomp their way up the stairs for dinner. They turned around when Steve told them that Bucky hadn’t even gotten home yet. Steve glanced to the clock. He definitely should have been back. He stood and shoved the folders into the couch cushions just as the front door swung open and Bucky stumbled in to the house loaded with bags and a panicked expression.

“Did you see Sam on your way in?” Steve teased him. Bucky just looked confused.

“What?” He asked. Steve just smiled through it.

“He stopped by. I thought you might have passed him.” Steve explained. It didn’t make Bucky relax at all. He remained tense and uncomfortable.

“No.” Bucky told him, his face too serious for the lighthearted question.

Steve helped him tuck the groceries in to the cabinets and pull out what he needed for the taco night. He caught Bucky’s hand shaking as he put the meat in the fridge. Steve caught the hand in his own and squeezed it. Bucky practically jumped at the contact. Steve didn’t let go until Bucky sighed and relaxed slightly.

“The grocery store was weird.” Bucky told him. Steve’s wondered what about it had been hard, wondering if it had anything to do with something in those files. Bucky smiled at him though and Steve let his hand drop.

“Let’s make some tacos.” He told him.

\------------------------------

James ducked in to the garage while the taco meat was cooking on the stove. He wanted to check his gear. He’d feel a little more solid if he felt like his base was secure. So when Steve said he’d chop the tomatoes and the meat needed to simmer, he stepped away.

The bag was in one of the beat up cardboard boxes off to the side of the garage. The second one down in it’s stack so that someone poking through boxes wouldn’t accidentally stumble upon it. It had been the most secure hiding place he could find in his little garage. He’d pulled all of the ammunition out and stacked it on the other side of the room, just in case, so that if one stash was found then the rest would still be a little bit safe.

And in his third hiding spot, inside the spare tire that didn’t even fit the car that Steve drove anymore, he’d stacked anything else he’d wanted safe. The phone sat right on top. James pulled it out and pressed the button, waiting for it to power on.

It had been a few days since he called any of his support numbers. James hadn’t wanted to call in again because every time that he reached the mocking robotic voice he felt worse and worse about it. And he hadn’t wanted to call in to the live line because if someone was tracking him that could bring some sort of trouble on Steve.

But now he didn’t think he had a choice.

Not only had James had two run ins with goons in the past two days, he now knew that they were staying here and tracking him. Maybe even keeping him under surveillance. Keeping Steve and the twins under surveillance. If James’ cover had been blown, that was one thing. But they weren’t actively trying to kill him at the moment, that he could tell, which honestly concerned him more.

If a target wasn’t taken out immediately, it was because they still had value. The only times James had stalked his prey instead of taking them out was when he was waiting for them to lead him to a higher value target. And the only higher value people around James at the moment were Steve and his friends, assuming the twins weren’t on anybody’s radar.

He picked up the phone and dialed from memory.

It was a number that would only work with the sat phone’s encryption key. And only reached one person within Hydra. It took about twenty seconds while James waited as several loud clicks connected him to the line he needed before it started ringing. It only rang three times before the phone connected and a rough voice answered.

“Pierce.” It snapped, irritated at the interruption.

“Asset reporting in.” James said sharply. “32557038.”

There was a short pause and a sigh before Pierce scoffed. “Mr. Barnes. Are you not dead yet?”

\------------------------------

Dinner was practically silent. Steve was about to knock his own plate off of the table for no other reason than getting Bucky to look him straight in the eye. Or maybe he wanted Bucky to never look at him again. He wasn’t sure. It was about a 50/50 split, if he was being honest. Things hadn’t improved when, after Bucky had forgotten about the ground beef and let it burn, Wanda had started crying about the smoke detectors going off. The meat was only slightly charred, and the flavor packet helped mask most of the burnt taste. Almost. If it was swallowed with a tall glass of water.

The twins had each eaten three as if they were covered in chocolate.

Steve was only a little sure that they were doing it solely out of affection for Bucky, who’d apologized approximately fifteen thousand times for the burnt food.

He managed to choke down four (they were small) mostly by focusing on the folders on the couch that he hadn’t had time to hide any better. If Bucky went to sit on the couch, he’d see them. And Steve didn’t know how to explain it to him yet. Not when he didn’t know everything. Not when Bucky would be faced with a million more questions and nobody to trust.

Bucky nudged his shoulder and Steve realized he had been staring at his plate for too long.

“It’s just tacos.” Bucky teased him. “I hope they’re not too confusing for you.”

Steve’s mouth opened and shut before he cracked into a smile.

“I’m just trying to find meat that’s not burnt.” Steve told him. Bucky laughed.

“There’s not any. I checked.” Bucky admitted. Steve laughed with him. Wanda’s fork hit the plate.

“If we know it’s bad does that mean we don’t have to eat it?” She asked. Pietro’s  fork hit the table with a clang just like his sister’s as he nodded in agreement. Then he looked over at Bucky and said something in Sokovian with an sheepish grin. Whatever Bucky responded with, Pietro relaxed.

“Does that mean ice cream?” Pietro asked.

Steve sighed, surveying the table. Despite the mess, they’d still managed to eat most of it. “Yeah.”

“Yes!” Wanda cheered.

“And a movie?” Pietro pressed. Steve considered. It was a school night and already getting late.

“How about a TV show?” He compromised. That way he’d only partially be a horrible father.

It was only once the twins cheered and took off for the living room that Steve realized the flaw in his plan. It involved bringing them all in to the very room that Steve wanted to keep everyone out of. His suddenly nauseous stomach wasn’t helped by Bucky showing up at his elbow with a smile and a bottle of wine.

“Want something for desert besides ice cream?” He offered. Steve’s gaze fell down to the bottle.

He could use some alcohol right about then.

“Sure.” Steve nodded. “But you need the corkscrew.”

Bucky nodded to himself and turned around. Steve practically dove for the couch and yanked the files out from under the cushion and tucked them underneath the pile of magazines on the bottom shelf of the side table. Not ideal, but better than Bucky sitting on them.

His reassurance was weakened slightly when Pietro started slamming the remote on to the table.

Immediately, Bucky tucked Pietro under his arm and nicked the remote from his hands.

“I can’t get the TV to turn on.” Pietro told him quietly.

“Then just ask me for help. It’s probably broken.” Bucky said quietly. “We can figure it out together, okay?”

Pietro just nodded, but his face was still pinched angrily.

“So, how do we turn it on?” He asked. Pietro pressed the TV button and the power button. The screen flickered to life on to the evening news. Pietro cheered his success, but Steve watched Bucky’s face fall. And hard. It looked like all of the color drained out of his face.

On the screen, a bland anchor was discussing the ongoing murder investigation of a man in the downtown area. Authorities hadn’t identified him, but he appeared to be a businessman with ties to the area who was visiting from his home out of state. Any tips or information on his identity would be appreciated. Steve listened to it intently, switching between watching the screen and Bucky’s face. It was still blanched. He looked practically nauseated when the man’s face popped up on to the scream.

“You okay?” Steve asked him. Bucky cleared his throat, nodding.

“Yeah, fine.” But he set Pietro down. “I think I’m going to go shower or something, actually.”

Both Wanda and Pietro whined. “But the TV show.”

“Just watch the show.” Steve said quietly, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “We’re all here. It’s okay. No need to get anxious. We’re just going to sit and watch some TV, okay?”

Bucky was tense but he nodded a few times. “Yeah. Okay. That’s fine. Yeah. We can do that.”

“Yeah?” Steve smiled at him, settling onto the couch and piling the twins on to his and Bucky’s laps. Human contact was meant to help ease anxiety right? Steve figured both he and Bucky could use some anxiety relief at the moment.

It took Bucky a full fifteen minutes to relax into Steve’s side. Another fifteen minutes after that, both Pietro and Wanda were asleep. Steve waited until he was sure they were all the way out before turning to Bucky, who was relaxed, but still frowning at the kid’s show on the TV show as if it personally offending him. Steve used the arm he’d slung over Bucky’s shoulder to squeeze and get his attention.

“You want to talk about it?” He asked Bucky. Bucky shrugged in response.

“It’s fine.” Bucky whispered. He looked over at Steve and smiled softly. “Thanks for asking.”

Steve just smiled back at him. “I’m here if you need me.”

When Bucky looked away from him instead of responding, Steve ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach.

\-----------------------------

James was fried. Absolutely fried. He had no way to stop the jangling feeling in his nerves. Like a live wire touched underneath his skin. It had started when Steve had touched his shoulder the night before. James had looked up at him and just known that they were in danger. All of them. Not that ‘oh-someone-might-come-by’ from before, but in a ‘we’re definitely on the to-do list’ way.

The man on the news had been Abramovich.

But the manner of his death was textbook Hydra. Anonymous assassination.

Actually, textbook Rumlow.

Which meant that there was something wrong with Hydra. Pierce admitted to wanting him dead. Now this man, their target, was assassinated instead of being brought to justice. There was no mention of guns seized. Or his past as a black market arms dealer. No, what the public got to know was the cover story. The good man with charitable organizations and dozens of employees. Not the conman with the enterprise that cost hundreds- if not thousands- of lives over the past five years.

And he was actually supposed to be working, though he’d spent thirty minutes of the past two hours standing in the back alley with his head between his knees trying to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t run, not when people could see Steve or the twins as leverage over him. He couldn’t go to anyone else, because Hydra was authorized at the highest levels. The only thing he could think of was to stay. Stay and protect Steve.

He nearly jumped out of skin when the door to the alley slammed open.

Natasha looked at him in concern. “Get out of here. If you leave now you’ll make it home for dinner.”

Great. Another dinner James could ruin. He shook his head, and was about to tell her no, when he changed his mind. He needed to talk to Steve. “Thanks. I’ll get this sorted out and be back tomorrow, okay? I’ve just…I’ve got to do this.”

Natasha didn’t seem relieved at all. She looked more concerned. “Yeah. Get out of here.”

The house was too close to the shop. James got there and then didn’t know what to do with himself when his feet didn’t want to go into the house. He ended up sitting in the driveway for five minute just waiting to get the motivation to inside. Once he did, he found Steve working with his headphones in on a painting in the garage.

“You’re home.” Steve stood from his stool. James just stared at him.

He looked so happy to see him. James was staring at his painting.

It was a portrait of him. Sort of. But his face was open. Vulnerable. It made James feel exposed.

“You’re painting me?” James asked him. Steve looked embarrassed.

“I am.” He admitted.

His expression went from tentative to embarrassed as he realized James’ unease.

“I can scrap it.” Steve said quickly. He immediately moved to pull the painting off of the easel. James reached forward quickly and grabbed his arm to stop it.

“Don’t.” He said earnestly. “I just didn’t expect it.”

Steve smiled. “I didn’t either.”

His smile was so warm, and James was already so thrown from the entire day, that he felt almost like he was going to start crying. He felt hollow. Like he was standing on ground that was slowly caving inwards. It certainly felt like falling at least. The feeling quickly descended into panic and James had to leave. He was suddenly being propelled forward, back in to the house. Steve followed him as he moved back into the house. James only moved faster, because he couldn’t escape the feeling of being trapped.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked him. James just huffed.

“I can’t do this anymore.” James told him finally, spinning on his heel to face him.

Steve just stared at him in disbelief. “Can’t do what anymore? This? Me?”

“Jesus, Steve. It’s nothing to do with you.” But James stopped Steve from getting any closer and leaned backwards. He needed out. And he needed out immediately. He didn’t know what Steve was trying to get at. None of it made any sense. “I just need to get out. I’m going to go for a run. Just have some wine. I’ll see you when I get back.”

He stomped past Steve, ignoring his protests and questions, back into the garage.

The door to the garage slammed shut behind him. He wanted to get out. He needed to get out. And those words just kept repeated like a mantra in his brain. Get out get out get out get out. James felt trapped and couldn’t get himself out of the house fast enough.

He grabbed workout clothes and dressed quickly. He’d make a pass around the neighborhood to check for Rumlow. Or the grocery buying goons. Because, Jesus, it really looked like Hydra was behind this. James couldn’t really wrap his mind around it. Why? Had Abramovich just offered too much money for Pierce to pass up? And at that point, why not just scrap the entire op?

He spun, frustrated, and ran a hand over his face. He needed to remember to breathe. James took a moment to sit in the garage. This was coming to an end. And soon. Either because someone was going to come for him, or he was going to run. And not just around the block, but for good. He absolutely hated the thought, which was a feeling he wasn’t prepared to examine. His eyes avoided the painting of his own face sitting in the corner.

The door swung open, and Steve leaned against the frame, staring at him. James just let him stare for a second, waiting for Steve to work his way around to whatever it was that he wanted to say.

“Are you actually leaving right now?” Steve asked him from the garage door.

James glared and then had to remind himself that it wasn’t Steve he was mad at. “Yes.”

But he stomped past him either way.

\-----------------------------

He _left_. He actually fucking _left_. Steve couldn’t believe it. He was shocked.

Clearly something was wrong with James. And it had something to do with the news show they’d watched the night before. Steve rubbed his face and went back out to the garage where he’d been working when James got home. The painting had only started to take shape that morning and Steve hadn’t hated it. In all honesty, he’d been surprised how easily the sketched underlying drawing had been to do. The features were sharp in his mind.

And opening the wine had, somehow, only made the features sharper.

So Steve had excused the continued drinking by saying it was to help himself focus. To cut lose after a long day. Week. Two weeks. Had Bucky already been there for two weeks?

He didn’t even want to look at the painting any more. He’d been staring at it all day. His frustration both with it and its subject was almost enough to make him put his fist through it. Steve stomped back into the house and went directly to the top of the large cabinet that he kept the fine china in. On top of it was the two folders that Sam had given him. Steve had avoided them all day, but needed to know now what they said. Bucky’d been acting too weird.

The first file was thinner, but still had about a hundred sheets of paper in it.

When he flipped the first page open he found that it was a police report. Because that was reassuring. Bucky’s face looked back at him from the mugshot with an arrogant smirk that Steve remembered from that afternoon on the terrace, but that he hadn’t really seen since. It felt foreign to see it again.

He didn’t read the description from the report but looked at the list of previous charges.

-Possession of a Firearm without a License

-Illegal Sale of a Firearm

-Illegal Possession of a Class 1 Weapon

-Possession of a Schedule 1 Narcotic

-Possession with Intent to Distribute

Steve stopped reading when he hit the bottom of the first page. He couldn’t even bring himself to turn it until he went and fetched the bottle of wine. It became a game. Read something horrifying about the stranger living in his garage, take a drink, read something horrifying, take a drink. Rinse and repeat. By page three he’d finished the entire bottle. Just in time to read the pencil scrawled note in an unfamiliar handwriting at the bottom of an invoice supposedly for the business license for Kronos.

_Not actually filed? KRONOS DOES NOT EXIST._

_Records trace back to AP._

Which floored him. Sure, Steve had remembered Sam saying that there had been a discrepancy. That something in Bucky’s records didn’t add up. But Kronos had their building in town. He’d seen it. Their logo was familiar enough that he could probably sketch it freehand from memory.

And who was AP?

Sighing, Steve went for the next bottle of wine and decided to keep the game going.

\-----------------------------

It was several hours later when James got back. He’d managed to distract himself pretty thoroughly with a long run around the block. Three times. A few of the neighbors had seen him out and about and looked at him as if he had completely lost his mind. But James was on edge. He had lost his mind. Oh, and somebody was still trying to kill him.

As he pulled himself back into the driveway and slowed his run to a walk, he figured he had gotten himself calm enough to go back in to Steve. Less likely to freak out just because his husband smiled at him or said something sweet.

The front door was slightly ajar. James immediately went on edge. He went sideways towards the garage, grabbed the gun from his hiding spot, and being as silent as he could possibly manage, and made his way into the small living space inside.

“Steve.” He called. “Are you here?”

No answer.

“I’m back from my run.” He circled in to the kitchen and saw a pile of bottles on the table. Interesting.

From there he went in to the living room and found his husband giggling into the small remote in his hands as he tried- and failed- to tell it to search for Real Housewives. His giggles and his slurred speech made it unintelligible mumbling that the remote couldn’t understand.

James felt relief flood his entire body. He’d been so scared. There was the issue now of standing in his own living room pointing a gun at his very shockingly, but adorably, inebriated husband, which James doubted Steve would appreciate. So, he stashed the gun behind the hideous porcelain vase the Steve wouldn’t get rid of and cleared his throat. It finally got the attention of Steve, who turned and looked over at him with a wide grin. The sheer absurdity of it made James laugh.

“Hi.” Steve said it and then burst in to a fresh round of laughter.

“Hi.” James responded with smile. He dropped onto the floor next to Steve.

“Hi.” Steve repeated. James laughed. They’d be here all night at this rate.

“You’re plowed.” He told Steve, grinning.

“A little.” Steve admitted. He held up two pinched fingers, studied them, and then widened the gap by about two inches. James laughed. If the bottles in the kitchen were any indication, Steve’s guess was just a little bit light.

“That so?” James asked. Steve just shrugged, putting on an innocent face.

“I don’t know how it happened.” He told James. There was an empty glass in front of him that they both glanced at before looking back at each other. Steve grabbed the glass and tipped it upside down to prove that it was empty. “Prol’ly because I kept drinking.”

God, he was adorable. James grinned.

“Did you eat anything?” James asked him. It had been hours since their lunch date.

“Nope.” Steve shook his head and then shrugged. “I forgot.”

This was apparently so funny that he burst out in to laughter again. James shook his head.

“Let’s get you upstairs, babe.” He tried to get Steve to stand up by poking his side but it didn’t work.

Jesus, his husband was a heavy lump of muscle. James stood and tried to lift him, but Steve barely even budged. Like, not even an inch. James shifted and tried another angle but similarly had no luck whatsoever in his attempt to lift him.

“Don’t want to help me?” James asked him. Steve shook his head.

“Nope.” He looked perfectly content to let James try to wrestle him up without help.

James should just leave him there. He considered it for a moment but decided he couldn’t. He’d be kind.

“I’m just going to let you sleep here.” James threatened, even though he’d just decided he wouldn’t.

“What?” Steve asked him as James tried pulling him again. “No goodnight kiss?”

If there were a proverbial pail of cold water that would have been the moment it dropped on James’s head. He could practically feel it dripping down his back. But, unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of it. Because as James gaped, staring down at Steve as he grinned up at James clearly very proud of his own wit, Steve leaned in and kissed him.

It was a good kiss. Enough that, for a split second, James stopped thinking about their situation and the complications (and the fact that his husband was so far beyond being sober enough to consent to _anything_ ). But then reality came rushing back in and James had to push him away roughly. Steve just laughed as if the whole situation was hilarious.

“Come back down here.” Steve patted the carpet next to him. “Let’s do that again.”

James wished the ground would open him up and take him to hell. He’d prefer it to this. “Bed time.”

“Bed?”

James wished he didn’t catch the way Steve’s whole expression lit up at the idea. Crazy man.

“Cut it out.” He swatted Steve’s hand away from where it was trailing up his shirt.

“Don’t wanna.” Steve went to put his hand right back where he was. James shuddered, but just let him. The fingers on the hot skin of his stomach were the absolute worst kind of torture but, honestly, James deserved it for being the worst human being in existence.

“You’re impaired.” James explained to him. He finally leveraged Steve into a standing position.

“I feel fine.” Steve assured him. James rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure you do.” He drawled. But the sarcasm was lost on Steve who just grinned.

“I really do.” Steve told him. The stumbled towards the stairs and landed against the stair railing. Steve’s hand wrapped itself around James’s wrist and held it against the bare skin of Steve’s side. He nuzzled his nose in to James’s hair. “See? Feels great. Doesn’t it.”

James’s only response was a lengthy list of (silent) swear words. On the outside, he said nothing. He was too busy trying to disentangle himself from Steve’s hands. Every time James detached him from one place, Steve’s other hand would have found another. It didn’t stop until James trapped both hands and pinned them to the wall, flipping Steve so his back was to the wall. James had to use his full body weight against Steve to hold him there. The result- the two of them pressed up against the wall roughly- was so close to James’s dream he had to force himself to think of folding t-shirts to feel marginally less dirty.

“Stop.” James growled. His throat was too tight and dry to do smooth or kind. Steve grinned insolently.

Every bad deed James had ever committed in his entire life led him to this exact moment.

“Behave yourself.” James insisted to Steve. He held on to his honor as tightly as he could.

Steve said nothing, though his grin didn’t even dim. James stepped back, putting in inch or two between them and pulling Steve towards the stairs. He could tell this gave Steve the wrong impression from the wicked grin Steve shot his way, but James didn’t care. If it got Steve upstairs and in to bed with a door between them, he’d take it. Gladly. He turned and pulled Steve behind him as he began climbing.

“James.” Steve’s voice was thick and, God help him, James turned to see what it was.

Steve yanked him down, kissing him again. James couldn’t get himself disentangled before he fell in to it. Honorable or not, he was human. And Steve kissed like he _meant_ it. James could damn near feel it in his toes, and he certainly did feel it everywhere else. He finally pulled himself away, after a few minutes too long, with a regretful moan.”

“Steve.” He whispered, their faced still inched from each other. He laughed. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Steve just grinned. “I thought you were already crazy.”

James shouldn’t laugh. It shouldn’t be funny. But instead he found himself giggling like an idiot over the stupid joke with his drunk as fuck husband. The same husband that wasn’t actually his husband, thought he was an amnesiac, and now clearly wanted in to James’s pants. The feeling on that last part was mutual, but James couldn’t let anything happen while the rest was still between him. And with Steve this drunk. It was just all wrong. There was supposed to be _candles_ and _romance_ and probably _poetry_ because his husband was a huge softy. Their first real kiss was not to be something horny and sloppy on their living room floor.

James went to start climbing, but as he did, he felt Steve’s fingers trailing up his side again. He swatted them away and kept climbing. Jesus, this was complicated. James just wanted to have sex with his husband, who he was surprised to find he actually cared about a great deal. Too bad it wasn’t that easy.

When they reached Steve’s door, James tried to push him inside without going in himself. If he went inside, he was done for. A man only had so much strength and dignity. James was quickly running out of both. Steve didn’t go in, though and instead wound one hand around James’s waist and carded the other through James’s hair.

“Kiss me again.” Steve mumbled. His breath was hot against James’s neck.

“Oh my God.” It was as close as James had come to sincerely praying in years. His knees buckled slightly.

Steve was pulling him in to the room and James didn’t even notice until the door clicked shut behind him. Oh, no. No. No no. That couldn’t happen. _This_ couldn’t happen. James swallowed, ignoring the small line of tiny kisses Steve was leaving along his jawline. He needed to get away. Immediately. James tried to push away with sudden desperate movements like a drowning man trying to get to the shore. It failed. Steve was laughing like it was a game and suddenly they were toppling over on to Steve’s gigantic bed and James was on top of Steve, pinning him to the mattress.

He felt like the worst kind of asshole, but when he tried to move, Steve made a noise that was flat out indecent and James froze. All of his brain power was officially zapped.

“Feels good.” Steve mumbled. His hips moved against James where he was straddling Steve.

James bit back a moan and cursed every deity he could think of in alphabetical order. “ _Stop._ ”

“Don’t wanna.” Steve repeated. His hands were under James’s shirt and trying to peel it off.

“Jesus.” Every time James tried to move off of him, Steve arms held him in place.

“Steve, we can’t do this.” James insisted. He managed to disentangle one arm by sacrificing his top.

The other one was still moving.

“I want you to stop this, dammit.” James swore. He finally got both hands. “Keep your hands off me.”

Steve giggled and used James’s hands being full as an excuse to trail wet kisses over exposed skin.

If there was a God, it hated him. Explicitly and specifically.

Steve’s hips bucked and James practically lost his battle right then and there. Steve’s mouth nipped and nibbled and finally came back to James’s mouth. James kissed him. It was deep and hard and, maybe, just a little bit mean. It was definitely desperate. When it was done and he pulled back, Steve was looking up at him with this dazed, utterly blissed out grin.

“I ought to strangle you.” James told him.

“You love me.” Steve told him arrogantly. James laughed. Steve shifted. “Kiss me again. And maybe…”

He trailed off, but James knew what he meant. His whole body ached with the want of it, but he held back, finally managing to climb off of him. “You’re going to remember when we have sex, Steve. And you’re going to be stone cold sober and begging me for it.”

“Okay.” Steve murmured. His head turned to follow James as he walked out of the room. James could hear him already succumbing to sleep. He laughed and shut the door behind himself on the way out. At the very least, James did not envy the hangover Steve was going to have in the morning.

\------------------------------

Steve was practically whistling over the skillet the next morning. His good mood made absolutely no sense. His husband was a fraud, potential arms dealer, and was also the victim of a kidnapping that he perpetrated. What if he had black market contacts that were going to get revenge on him? Was he invoking the wrath of some seedy underworld?

The idea of a seedy underbelly in his sleepy little town made Steve snort with laughter.

Like he’d already told himself: Good mood. No sense. He’d been giggling all morning.

He’d kissed Bucky. The man whose real identity he didn’t know. And he didn’t even regret it a little bit. Well, he regretted practically mauling him while drunk. He had a pretty strong memory of Bucky swearing at him pretty emphatically.

The memory made him smile. And finally cave in to his desire to start whistling.

“You’re making breakfast this morning?” Bucky asked him. Steve jumped because he hadn’t even heard the garage door open. And he hadn’t even unlocked it.

“Um.” He swallowed. Bucky looked worse for wear. “Yeah. The twins will be back from Sam’s soon.”

Bucky nodded a few times, then smirked at him. “Feeling a little rough? Want something greasy?”

“What?” He made a face. “Not really, no. I feel fine.”

The made Bucky pause. Realization dawned on Steve abruptly. He smiled at Bucky.

“I don’t really get hangovers.” Steve told him. Bucky’s smirk dropped.

“You don’t?” He asked. Steve shook his head.

“Not even in college. I guess I have a really fast metabolism. More than one person has hated me for it. Natasha, for all her proud Russian genes, especially.” Steve told him proudly. Mostly because he got the distinct impression that his lack of hangover was personally offending the rather haggard looking man across the kitchen from him. Steve smirked.

“You don’t have a hangover?” Bucky asked again, voice tinged with a whine. Steve laughed.

“Nope.” He told him.

“Not even a little headache?” Bucky pressed.

“Not even a little.” Steve confirmed, shrugging innocently.

“How about tired? You must want a nap pretty desperate.” Bucky continued, crossing his arms. In truth, Steve would probably not say no to another hour or two under the covers. Especially if it weren’t alone. But the desire to mess with Bucky was just too high.

“Wide awake.” Steve said with a shrug. “I was actually up before my alarm and got a work out in.”

He almost bought it. But then Steve caved and started laughing, making the whole ruse obvious. He laughed along with Steve for a moment until they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Steve went to get it, but it was right as the oven timer went off. Bucky waved him away.

“I’ll go see who’s bothering us. Might be Sam with the twins.” Bucky turned and Steve smiled after him before remember the burning food on the stove. He was so preoccupied with saving the biscuits from charring that he didn’t hear the conversation that took place at the door, not the footsteps back in to the kitchen. So he didn’t realize that anyone else had joined them until he spun and saw the sharply dressed woman sharing him down sternly. Instead of extending a hand to shake, she lifted a badge and ID for him to examine. Bucky stood behind her looking both terrified and guilty.

“My name is Monique Levine.” She told Steve, handing him the badge. “I’m here to discuss your children.”

And just like that, Steve’s good mood crumbled.

\------------------------------

James practically watched Steve deflate. The woman hadn’t even gotten her name out before she’d shoved her badge in his face. For a moment he had thought she was there for him, but the whole ‘Child Services’ part of her title had thrown him. It had taken a minute or two longer than it should have to connect the dots to the twins.

“What did you need?” Steve asked her. He probably didn’t realize his tone. James cleared his throat.

“Your visit is just a little, um, unexpected.” James told her politically. “Is there something specific you came here to discuss today?”

Steve’s posture didn’t relax at all.

“I was passed your case from May Parker when it was escalated.” The agent said simply.

“So you’re just checking in?” James suggested at the same time that Steve let out a defensive snap.

“ _Escalated_?”

The woman had the good sense to look surprised.

“Yes.” She nodded twice, uneasy. “Were you not notified? A letter should have arrived from our office.”

Steve shook his head silently, so James stepped in. “No, we didn’t get a letter. Why was it escalated?”

“You, I’m afraid. A report came in to our office about an unreported change in the living situation at this location.” She told him. She pulled out a file from her bag and dropped it open, reading from the letter at the top of the file. “As it was not the first such incident on this case file- the first being a change in employment status, the second being the removal of an in-home support system- it was flagged for further review. There was a previous home visit regarding the need for increased supervision for this case. I was hoping to speak to the children. Are they still in bed?”

Her pen was hovering over the page. Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They’re not here.”

“They’re not?” The agent frowned.

“We, um, let them have a sleepover last night.” Steve told her, clearing his throat. He was shifting uncomfortably, moving from one foot to the other. “There wasn’t any notice for your visit and we like them to have fun on weekends. They are visiting with their Uncle Sam.”

Her frown deepened. “They stay out of the house every weekend?”

“No.” Steve said quickly. “No, no. It was just a special treat for this weekend.”

It didn’t improve the look on her face at all. “So, you don’t let them visit with family except on special occasions?”

“What? No.” Steve looked like the was going to be sick. James had just been standing to the side, trying to stay out of everyone’s way, but Steve needed his support. He stepped in and put a hand on his shoulder. Steve immediately wrapped an arm around James tightly. He sighed a breath in to James’ shoulder. That was when James knew what was going to solve this immediately.

He turned back to the agent, slowly and subtly pulling the rings from both of their fingers. He felt Steve stiffen in his arms but kept turning. From the look on Agent Levine’s face, she hadn’t noticed anything amiss. He slipped both rings in to the pocket of his jeans. She was still frowning at them.

“I’m going to be honest, gentlemen, these are allegations that CPS takes very seriously. If this isn’t the right home for Wanda and Pietro, if this isn’t a stable environment, we’ll need to evaluate what’s in the children’s best interest.”

“Is there a problem with me staying here?” He asked her. “It’s only a temporary set up.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Temporary? I was led to believe this was a permanent change.”

“No, ma’am.” James shook his head. “Steve is helping me out, and I’m helping him transition since his last roommate moved out.”

She made a note in her pad.

“And I guess you are also not underemployed at a local pizzeria?” She asked him. James shook his head.

“I’m Special Agent James Barnes with Hydra. I was in town on an operation that ended abruptly. I am working part-time to stay busy while waiting for my next assignment. It is not my main source of income.” He paused, levelling her with a look. “Though I don’t see how my temporary situation impacts your evaluation of my friend’s ability to raise his children.”

She cleared her throat. Steve was stiff beside him, James could tell without even turning to look at him.

“Clearly, some of my information isn’t accurate.” She admitted. James frowned.

“Clearly.” He drawled.

“I’ll have to check your background, if you’re going to be here any longer than another two weeks.”

“Have at it.” He snapped. “Ask for Alexander Pierce, he’ll tell you what you need to know.”

There was a sharp cough from behind him. “He won’t be.”

Steve’s voice was sharp. James tensed at the sound but didn’t let himself flinch. Agent Levine cleared her throat again and looked away from them both awkwardly. She spun her file towards them both and pointed to the signature line at the bottom of the page.

“It’s funny you should mention Alexander Pierce.” She told James, looking up at him in confusion.

James glared down at the page. That was Pierce’s signature at the bottom of the page.

Certifying information that everyone in the room knew was false.

Well, at least James knew was false. And he could prove it to them all. He disappeared out in to the garage and yanked the box off of the shelf and tore through it to find his bag. His badge was in there. He’d be able to prove that he was who he said he was.

The bag was gone. It had just been there the night before.

His entire life had been in that garage. The second and third boxes were empty as well.

He moved to the spare tire- there he’d kept the last of his materials.

The tire was also empty. James went as far as to roll it out of the corner to the main area of the garage to check behind it. There was nothing. All of his things had been taken out of the garage. James spun around and noticed that even the painting of his face that Steve had half-finished was gone.

Someone had literally come in to the garage while he was sleeping and cleared it out.

Which meant that someone didn’t just want him dead. They wanted him alive but suffering.

Or alive to blame for something.

To be honest, James wasn’t a huge fan of either of those options.

\------------------------------

James knew. James knew the truth and he’d said nothing.

Steve could probably have been bowled over with a feather. His hand felt empty. He squeezed it into a fist to try to counteract the way he could still feel Bucky- James- pull the ring from his finger. And he couldn’t say anything about it because Monica Levine was staring at him with growing suspicion. She was still pointing at the report and the signature on the bottom of the page.

Alexander Pierce, whoever he was, was either screwing James over for some reason or he was revealing a much larger delusion. Steve had met James Hubbard, rich jackass, which had become James Hubbard, international criminal and arms dealer, and was now (supposedly) James Barnes, government agent?

And it was Alexander Pierce who would be able to tell him one way or the other.

James slammed back into the kitchen so forcefully that he made the other two of them jump. He swallowed and Steve noticed he looked slightly panicked. He turned to Steve.

“You emptied out the garage?” He said, his voice mildly accusatory. Steve was confused.

“No?” He shook his head.

“You..” He dropped his voice and turned away from the agent. “You didn’t move your painting?”

Steve made a face and shook his head again. “No.”

Monica Levine sighed and snapped her shoulder close. “If the children aren’t going to be home soon, I’ll be in touch to schedule an official visit. An official report needs to be filed within the next thirty days with my recommendation on this case.”

Her look told Steve exactly what her recommendation was going to be.

They didn’t say anything else until the door snapped shut behind her. And then it was suddenly a flood of words all at once. Steve had immediately gone on the offensive. James had known who he was. That he wasn’t Steve’s husband. That Steve had tricked him. And he had stayed anyway? For reasons that Steve didn’t fully understand.  James was shouting right back at him but Steve couldn’t even listen to it. He was seeing red.

At least, until a hand went over his mouth.

“You’re mad. I get it.” James told him, face grim. “Hate me later. We’ve got a bigger problem.”

Steve waited for a minute and then nodded. James removed his hand.

“The twins aren’t home. It’s been an hour.” James told him simply. He waited as Steve connected the dots, then continued. “Have you heard from Sam?”

Steve’s stomach dropped into the second or third level of hell. “Do you think they’re in danger?”

“Maybe.” James admitted.

“Because of you?” Steve asked. James seemed to realize the look on his face was dangerous and winced.

“Maybe.” He repeated. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Steve had literally kidnapped him. He knew he was not on high ground here. But he glared anyway.

“Yeah.” He admitted. “Me too.”

James stopped moving around the kitchen and took Steve’s shoulders in his hands. It was reassuring, though Steve hated that it was. “We’ll figure it out, right? Together.”

\------------------------------

Steve wouldn’t even look at him. James had to focus, especially if the twins were in danger. But the way Steve had stared at him, betrayed and furious, before shoving James’s hands off of him was going to stick with him. It was a little bit haunting. And James didn’t want to start a game of recriminations but it wasn’t like he had asked to be brought in to Steve’s house. Steve walked over to the couch and sat down to put his head in his hands.

“I’m a horrible person.” Steve whispered. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

James went to put a hand on his shoulder but drew back, not wanting Steve to jerk away from him.

“They might be fine.” James point out. “Have you tried calling Sam?”

Steve shot up and started looking around frantically for his phone. It was on the table right in front of him. James just handed it to him without saying anything else. Steve was trying to get the phone to open but couldn’t get his fingers to type the code in. He kept drawing the pattern wrong.

“Give me the phone.” James told him, reaching for it sharply. Steve jerked away.

“I can’t trust you. Clearly.” Steve snapped at him. James wanted to recoil, but didn’t. He didn’t.

“Steve. You can.” James told him, reaching up to force Steve to look at him. “You can. I promise.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. James stepped closer to reassure him and Steve let him do it. James gave him a minute before he stepped back and firmly took the phone from him.

“Let me give Sam a call, okay?” James told him. Steve just nodded.

But before James had even unlocked the phone, the door swung open and the whole herd came stomping in. Sam followed both twins in to the house, laughing and shouting loudly about some game the twins wanted to play. Sam had been the one laughing. Steve practically melted against James’ side when he saw them, but quickly stepped over to the twins and hugged them tightly. Which, given they had no idea what horrors both James and Steve had just been imagining, the twins were worried about.

“What’s wrong?” Wanda asked him. Pietro flinched away and stepped behind her.

“We’re not going away, are we?” Pietro asked. Steve visibly winced.

Given the past few hours, James held back. He didn’t want to intrude any further than he already had. That being said, he was struggling to not show his own barely contained relief. Steve assured them nothing of the sort was happening and sent the twins to play in basement. Sam was staring at them both as if they’d lost their damn minds.

“CPS visited this morning.” James explained blandly. He wasn’t sure what Steve wanted Sam to know.

“Oh, and he’s some sort of government agent. I kidnapped James Bond.” Steve cut in. Sam spun around to face James as if Steve had just told him that he was guilty of high treason. He was halfway through a snarl when Steve held up a hand. “We’re not playing that game right now. Bigger fish.”

Sam just glared at him before turning to raise an eyebrow at Steve. “Who’s getting fried?”

Steve said nothing, but waited for James to explain for himself.

“My old bosses, I think.” James said finally. “But I don’t know why or what their plan is. There’s something wrong, though, and I’m at the center of it.”

Sam didn’t seem convinced. “You’re at the center, but you don’t have any details?”

“I think I’m the patsy.” James said shortly.

“A patsy for what?” Sam asked him. James just shrugged.

“I have no idea. None of it makes a lot of sense.” He said finally. “I was trying to lay low when I got brought here. And I thought I was safe when I did it, or I never would have stayed. Once I realized it wasn’t, I was afraid leaving wouldn’t guarantee nobody would bother Steve and the twins.”

Sam just rolled his eyes. “So you’re claiming you stayed to protect them?”

“Yes.” James nodded firmly.

Sam clearly didn’t believe him, but Steve reached over and put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but James chose to believe that it was meant to be gratitude. For a moment they all just stood there listening to the twins play below them. Finally, Sam sighed.

“So, what are we doing next?” Sam asked.

The answer was, first, to get the twins sorted for the afternoon. Steve handled that and left the rest of the adults to discuss James’ situation. In his own words, he was an artist and not a soldier like the rest of them. Natasha and Clint apparently met in the service, which James hadn’t known, and Sam was currently serving, which James had known.

The second part was to call in what Natasha had called “The Bid Dogs”, which were still on their way. They were waiting for the others to show up and standing around the living room pretending it wasn’t insanely awkward. Sam and Clint had stepped out to Clint’s car to look at something in the engine (a cover for bitching about James, he was sure) while Natasha and James pretending to make small talk over an increasingly worrying amount of coffee. But they quickly ran out of topics that didn’t lead somewhere dangerous. Finally, Natasha set her cup down on the counter loudly and sighed.

“I’m just going to point that you’re an idiot.” Natasha told James, shaking her head.

“I didn’t think it would be smart to tell anyone.” James admitted to her. She shook her head and looked away. He raised an eyebrow at her.  “ _You_ could’ve told me that you knew I’d been kidnapped.”

She snorted. “I was directly involved in the kidnapping. So that’s unlikely.”

“I was expecting a week or two for my team to extract me.” James explained. “Obviously, I misjudged.”

The fact was, he obviously had. He’d been with Hydra for what felt like decades. And he never saw this coming. He trusted these men, even if he hadn’t always liked them. It wasn’t a huge compliment to his abilities or judgement that he hadn’t seen it coming. He’d thought the threat was Dottie and that she was hired by Abramovich. And maybe she had, been but clearly there had been more going on that he had just completely missed from the start.

“Hey.” Natasha nudged him. “You’re not a horrible judge of character.”

James snorted. “Really?”

“You decided to trust Steve and me.” She told him, as if that settled it. James laughed.

“I wasn’t really given a choice after you lot checked me out of the hospital.” James pointed out.

He glanced towards the basement door, where Steve had disappeared to play with the twins, and couldn’t help but frown slightly.  Steve trusted him, at least a little bit, but he had avoided saying anything directly to James since the others had showed up. And right now, James needed to be coming up with a plan and all he could think was that Steve hated him and that it hurt more than it should.

“They stole a painting of me that Steve did.” James told Natasha suddenly. She turned towards him.

“What?”

“Steve had started a portrait of me.” James explained.

“Painted you? Full on Titanic style?” She waggled her eyebrows and laughed. James wanted to laugh with, her but only managed a weak smile.

“They stole the painting.” James repeated to her.

“You think that’s significant?” She asked him, clearly confused. James shrugged.

“I think it makes me mad.” He allowed. Natasha just gave him a considering look, but said nothing else.

“I have a feeling they’re going to regret doing that.” Natasha told him finally. James wanted to agree, but it would have been even cheesier than he was already being. And luckily, Clint and Sam walked back in with a few others. The Big Dogs, James assumed. It was time to get to work.

\------------------------------

Wanda cheering for “Daddy” had been the only warning Steve got that James was coming downstairs. They’d been playing a game Natasha had given them called “Pretty Pretty Princess” so Steve was sitting there with one earring and a necklace on. Wanda was winning, already having both earrings and her crown. Which she was quick to brag about to James. Steve said nothing to him and let him chatter absently with the twins for a few minutes.

“They sent me to come get you.” James told him. “Coulson’s here.”

Steve stood quickly. “He’s with SHIELD.”

James just nodded.

“You knew they were calling in SHIELD?” Steve asked him. James shook his head.

“At this point, I wouldn’t ever assume I know what’s going on at any given moment.” He sighed.

“Are you really going to go after them?” Steve asked. He stood from the floor and stepped closer.

“I don’t think I have a choice.” James admitted with a shrug. He was studying Steve’s face in a way that made Steve a little uneasy. “But I think it will be okay. I’m not going in alone.”

Steve nodded a few times. “That’s good at least.”

It was idiotic, in Steve’s opinion. He wanted to shout at James that he owed these people nothing. He should just cut and run. There was a high chance that a trap was being set for him that was going to end up being way more dangerous than James was prepared for. He was gambling his life. And for what? For Steve and the twins? Steve wished that he was a good enough man not to let him make that choice.

James was still standing there staring at him. He cleared his throat.

“I think they’re waiting for you upstairs.” James told him. “I’m going to be down here for a minute.”

Steve was surprised. “They don’t think you need to be up there?”

“I, uh, think they want to talk to you about me before they agree to do anything.” James admitted.

“Oh.”

“You know.” James laughed. “I knew you were painting the SHIELD building. But I didn’t realize it was because you knew actual SHIELD agents.”

Steve smiled at him and laughed too. “Not a good thing?”

“I never would have trusted you.” James admitted with a laugh.

“But you trust them now?” Steve pressed. James paused before responding. Steve watched a whole journey go across his face before he finally shrugged.

“I trust you.” James told him. Steve felt the words like a pressure in his chest. It strangled a little bit.

He coughed to try and relieve the pressure but it didn’t let up. He felt heat rising his cheeks and knew he had to make a run for it. He gestured vaguely towards the stairs and started moving that way, mumbling something incoherent about needing to get upstairs to see them.

“Hey, Steve?” James called after him. He stopped, wincing and turned to see James smirking at him.

“Yeah?” He asked.

James walked up and stopped in front him, pausing only a moment, before reaching up. His finger barely grazed Steve’s cheek before gently moving to Steve’s ear, where he snagged the colorful plastic clip-on earring from where it dangled there and pulled it off.

“I don’t think you want to go up there with only one earing on.” James teased. Steve laughed.

“No.” He admitted. He also removed the necklace.

They were left too close to each other, just standing there. It wasn’t until Wanda screamed something angry at Pietro from the corner that James turned and waved him away, smiling over at Steve one last time before he disappeared up the stairs.

Steve jumped up the steps two at time, knowing that the others were waiting for him. He got to the front and stepped out, making sure the door shut firmly behind him. If he paused there for a moment to get his smile under control, the others absolutely did not need to know.

Except they were all right to the side of the door, staring at him.

“I rest my case.” Natasha was saying gesturing at Steve. “He’s practically swooning against the door.”

Sam was rolling his eyes. “Okay, so the guy is smooth.”

“Sure, that’s what it is.” Natasha scoffed, knocking his shoulder.

“You’re such a romantic, Nat.” Clint told his wife, smiling over at her. She glared at him for a second.

“Maybe.” She admitted. “Tell anyone and we’re getting a divorce.”

Coulson was the only one who acknowledged Steve standing there. “Hey, Steve. Doing alright?”

“Yeah.” Steve lied, nodding as casually as he could while his cheeks blared with a blush.

“I don’t think the debate is necessary. Clearly, he’s sticking around and Steve’s in deep.” Clint told them all, sipping the rest of the coffee straight from the pot. “So, we’re all in, yeah? I’ll go get 007 from downstairs and let you guys make the plan.”

Natasha nodded and elbowed Sam when he started to protest. “All in.”

“Thanks, guys.” Steve told them. He wasn’t even in the mood to argue.

James was going to be risking his life for them. This was the least that he could do. He and his friends would do everything they could to make sure that he was safe. Steve wanted Clint to have a say as well, he was also good at what he did, but Steve really appreciated being able to see the plan start to take place. It would help him panic less later.

And when James paused over one map of a suspected Hydra location to smile at Steve, making Steve’s entire insides turn in to a herd of butterflies, he had to admit that having him there helped as well.

\------------------------------

James had accidentally distracted himself by smiling at Steve, and the two of them hadn’t heard the phone when it started ringing. It took Natasha literally waving a hand in front of James’ face to interrupt Steve’s line of vision to get his attention.

“Steve, are you going to get that phone?” Natasha asked him. Steve turned towards in confused.

“That’s not my phone.” Steve told her. “We don’t have a house phone.”

James tried not to read too much into the liberal use of the word ‘We’ in that sentence, but knew that he was failing. Steve held his cell phone and, one by one, the others did too. All except James, since he didn’t have one. But the ringing was still going.

“This twins don’t have a ringing toy, do they?” Sam asked. “I don’t remember one.”

James shook his head. “Not that would be up here.”

He ignored the way Sam looked to Steve and waited for him to nod before believing him. Maybe he rolled his eyes a little bit. But he was only human.

“Let’s see if we can find it.” Natasha suggested. But as soon as he stood up, James realized.

“It’s my sat phone.” James said quickly. When the others looked at him in surprise, he shrugged.

“Keeping that one to yourself too?” Sam asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“It was in my bag. I’d thought that they took it as well.” James admitted. “I don’t know where it is.”

The ringing was coming from the front closet. They’d been in the house. So much further than the garage. It felt like such a deeper violation, somehow, despite it being further from his bed. The fact that the twins could have been in the house made James feel sick in his stomach.

Natasha yanked the phone off of the shelf. The number wasn’t one of the preprogrammed ones. Natasha tossed him the phone and waited for him to answer. James pressed the button to connect the call reluctantly, but as confidently as he could manage.

“Hello?”

“Barnes?” A voice crackled unevenly over the line. Secured, no doubt. Rumlow. James snarled.

“Yeah.” He agreed. “What’s your play, Rumlow?”

Rumlow laughed. “423 South Market Street. 2 hours.”

The call disconnected with a click and then the line went dead.

He turned back to the others and handed it over to them. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stepped past them to the vase where he’d stashed his weapon the night before. Shockingly, maybe because nobody would have thought to look for it there, the gun hadn’t moved. Steve’s outraged gasp was hard to miss when he pulled it out.

“You’ve had a gun in this house with my kids?” Steve demanded. James scratched the back of his neck.

“Technically, I only brought it in last night.” James explained. “After my run. I thought someone had come in. I hadn’t expected the, um, state you were in. So, yes, but only this morning?”

The explanation didn’t seem to appease him at all. Steve was still frowning.

“You’re not thinking of going, are you?” Steve asked him.

“Worried?” James teased him. Steve crossed his arms in front of his chest, but his expression softened.

“Of course, I am.” Steve told him. It was genuine enough that James turned away quickly.

“At least now we know where they’re expecting us.” James said, firmly changing the subject. “Coulson, you have a plan for that address?”

The agent just nodded once and started clicking through on his tablet, giving them all something else to focus on. And this time, James was careful not to make eyes at his husband. He definitely had to focus on the situation at hand and not the fact that, apparently, Steve Rogers was actually worried about him.

\------------------------------

Steve lasted about fifteen minutes in the basement after all of the others left. He kept running through it in his mind and the panic curled through his stomach that the Wild Krats just did not do anything to help soothe. Wanda and Pietro were worn out from their exciting morning and the ten minutes James let them have on the trampoline before they left.

“Hey, guys.” Steve started softly. He paused the TV show to a chorus of complaints. “Want to paint?”

That managed to cheer them up.

“And then snack at two thirty?” Wanda told him. That was their schedule.

“And then snack at two-thirty.” Steve agreed with her. “But why don’t we grab our smocks and head out to the garage to paint?”

Painting with the twins was always an adventure. Sometimes they wanted to paint everything up to (and including) the floor and walls, but others they’d paint for fifteen minutes and then end up watching something on their iPad while sprawled on the garage floor.

Steve set them up with watercolor and papers on two tiny easels. He’d learned very quickly that acrylics with children were not just inadvisable but a downright horrible idea. So they were limited to water colors until they were old enough to drive.

He enjoyed working next to them. Steve started sketching something on his new canvas. He didn’t mean to draw a new portrait to replace the one that had been stolen, but did anyway. It wasn’t exact. James was smiling a little more in this one. Closer to the smile he’d given Steve right before pulling off that colored plastic earing.

The twins were painting happily even after Steve realized that a full hour had gone by. His entire sketch was outlined roughly and he could see James’ face in the faint lines. It was almost three. They were almost at the meeting time. Steve suddenly felt queasy. He had to sit down on something that wasn’t an old wooden stool.

“You okay, Papa?” Pietro asked him, looking up from where he’d pulled his small chair directly up to the easel. “Is it snack time?”

Wanda nodded, looking at the little watch on her wrist. She frowned. “We’re late.”

And with that, they trudged inside. Steve shut off the light with one last look at the drawing of James and went inside to make his kids a snack. It felt normal and steadied his hands. It was something to take his mind off the dread in his stomach.

Only two or three more hours to go, probably.

\------------------------------

James walked in to the main open space. There was a table with a duffel bag on it next to a black brick of a cell phone that was straight out of some time in the late 1990’s. James looked behind him. He hadn’t wanted to risk a wire or having someone too close behind him. But now he had no way to check his movements without betraying his team’s positions.

He wasn’t willing to do that. So, instead, he took the risk himself. He reached over and unzipped the bag slowly in case the zipper was attached to a trigger of some kind. Inside was a stack of weapons. James recognized them as a model Hydra had been pretending to want to sell to Abramovich to lure him in. But they’d never actually acquired the weapons. There was no need. Especially not the easy two dozen that were in the duffel bag.

The phone next to him started ringing.

“Hello?” He answered cautiously.

“You’re really are this stupid, huh?” Rumlow answered him, laughing as he did it. James swore internally, but just waited for Rumlow to keep talking. Because it was Rumlow, James didn’t have to wait long. “I’m sorry, you know that it had to come to this.”

James scoffed. “No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” Rumlow laughed.

“What’s your play, Rumlow?” James asked. Because, clearly, he wasn’t going to get there on his own.

“Oh, you’re not in play.” Rumlow told him with a scoff. James looked around and back down at the bag. “And I’m not so stupid as to tell you anything. I just needed a call between these two numbers when the police arrive.”

James swallowed. “And who’s phone is it?”

The line clicked dead without a response. James swore, loudly and repeatedly. This wasn’t even where Rumlow was. A door slammed open behind him and James yanked one of the guns out of the bag and turned back towards the opening. There was a high, tinkling laughter and the clinking of heels against the concrete of the floor.

“How uncivilized.” Dottie clicked her tongue at him. The men at her side held their own weapons.

“Well, I was told to come alone.” He told her with a shrug.

“And you listened?” She laughed again and shook her head.

It didn’t match. She looked like she was yanked straight from the 1940s with curled blonde hair, red lips, and a vintage dress. James was in Kevlar and hadn’t shaved in two days. One of them had clearly taken the wrong approached to this meeting.

“I’m glad you’re prompt.” Dottie told him. “I heard that the shipment had gone through to Ivan and was absolutely pickled at the thought. After all, your compatriots had promised to divert the products to me instead. For a very high premium for the preference.”

James just nodded.

“Is this the sample?”

He nodded again.

“Check it.” She demanded of one of her goons. One of them lowered his weapon and stepped forward to the duffel, pulling it further open. He took one of the guns examined it for a moment, and then replaced it. His gun immediately went back up.

“Firing pins have been removed.” He reported. Dottie sighed, shaking her head in disappointment.

“James. James, James.” She extended a hand to one to the side. One of the goons put a gleaming pistol into her hand. She turned it over in her hands before lifting it to point at him in a move that was almost graceful. Her smile was weirdly delighted. “It appears your employers have sent you here as a sacrificial lamb to buy themselves time to complete the deal with Ivan.”

James wasn’t surprised. He did wince and lower his weapon, which everyone in the room now knew was a dud. It wasn’t going to hurt any of them.

“You didn’t know?” She asked him. James shook his head.

“I didn’t.” James confirmed. Dottie didn’t lower the gun, but pulled back the sleeve to look at her watch.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t the time to explain.” Dottie cocked the pistol and shrugged. “Apologies.”

James swore in his head repeatedly. “I know where the guns are. I know where the deal is going down.”

“I don’t think you do. Prove me wrong.” Dottie demanded.

“I tell you where it is and you kill me now.” James shook his head. He needed the leverage. He needed the time to come up with a viable answer for where it would be. Because, honestly, he had no clue.

“Or you just don’t know where it is.” Dottie told him.

“I do.” Bucky lied.

He was led from the building at gun point and forced into the passenger seat of a black sedan. Dottie didn’t point the gun at him outside, but had one of the goons press one into the small of his back the whole walk. There was nothing for James to do but let them start driving. Occasionally James would direct them to take a left or right. But it wasn’t until he saw the scaffold that he had an idea. Well, less of an idea and more of a realization.

He _did_ know where the deal was taking place.

It would be easy enough to have them circle the block and park. Also easy to get them into the elevator and step far enough back that he wouldn’t be the first one off of the elevator when it opened. And he was right. Dottie and her goons stepped out, eager to arrive and make an entrance, and James just waited for it to happen. They left, he pressed the door close button.

Three levels down, he stepped out in to the operations center they’d set up the week before. Still there. And twenty pairs of eyes swung towards him in surprise. James did the only thing he could think of and smiled sheepishly, waving slowly.

“Did I get the directions wrong?” James asked. He held up his hands to show he was unarmed.

“Barnes?” Rumlow growled.

“I should mention that you have one very angry blonde on your roof.” James told them casually.

“You do have a thing for blondes.” Rumlow snarled. One of the men opposite the table from Rumlow stood and aimed his weapon at James. “We need him alive if you want to walk free after all this. He’s our ticket.”

“He’s your ticket.” The man snarled.

“And I’m yours.” Rumlow snapped at him. James just watched him work.

He’d realized that the party had only ever been the cover. Abramovich was never going to be coming up to the terrace. He was always going to be on the lower level, with the plan being to keep James above the action. But then the scaffold had happened. And James had needed to come down and sort it out. It must have really thrown them when he’d come down. This had all been a guess until he saw two men on the right of whom he assumed was actually Ivan Abramovich. He’d seen them before. Only they’d been in Hydra uniforms. Hiding in plain sight.

“Let’s get to the business part of the evening.” James told them all. He held up the badge.

“What’s that supposed to be?” Rumlow asked him. “You think your Hydra badge does any good here?”

James scoffed. “This one’s not mine actually. But my friend at SHIELD said it was pretty cool.”

“Shit. SHIELD?” Abramovich shot up and his men did the same. Rumlow looked panicked.

“Yeah, SHIELD.” James nodded. “And I have to admit and think it’s pretty cool. This button right here? It tells all the agents downstairs our exact position. They’ll be here in minutes.”

Abramovich moved so quickly, James didn’t honestly know how to react. They made a grab for the gun crates and the money bags, trying to rip Rumlow off. Then the bullets started flying. James was left ducking for cover. He heard people rushing past him, but nobody was aiming for him. At least not yet. He gave it a couple minutes before they reprioritized.

Rumlow shot Abramovich in the head. James saw him fall and had to flinch away from to avoid being hit by the falling body. Then there was a blow to the side of James’ head. Rumlow was coming for him now. James rolled out of the way.

“Stop!” James demanded. Rumlow wouldn’t.

“What have you done?” Rumlow roared.

“Not expecting Pierce to bail you out, are you?” James asked. He had to laugh. “I’ll admit he seemed pretty quick to cut and run when I went down. But maybe that was just me.”

“You always were an annoying piece of shit.” Rumlow snarled. He raised his gun.

“Rumlow, stop!” James shouted again. Rumlow didn’t lower his gun and didn’t stop firing.

“You ruined everything.” Rumlow accused. “You couldn’t just let it lie. You had to bring up Abramovich to Dottie. You had to try and be the good guy. Wouldn’t stop following the letter of the law.”

James managed to squeeze a shot off towards him. “That was literally our job.”

“No, our job is to do the right thing. The system is broken. And some times that means the right thing is dismantling the system and building a new one. A stronger one.” Rumlow ran out of ammo and launched himself forward towards James.

He got two steps forward before he clattering to the ground. An arrow was lodged in his shoulder.

“What?” James couldn’t even process it.

“Is he down?” A voice called.

James meant to respond, he did, but couldn’t. He was staring at Rumlow as he clenched his wound, clearly grinding his teeth to stop from screaming. Suddenly everyone was at his side. Natasha and Clint, their friends with SHIELD, Sam.

When Natasha got close enough, she put a tentative hand on James’ shoulder.

“Did we just win?” Clint asked them, sidling into the room with a fucking crossbow slung over his shoulder. “It looked like I won it for us, but I’m just going to ask the rest of you.”

Coulson huffed. “Bragging isn’t attractive to anyone.”

“Speak for yourself.” Natasha told him. She knocked her hip against Clint’s and made him laugh.

Rumlow was out cold. James toed him with his boot and heard him groan, so he was at least mildly satisfied that he wasn’t dead. Whether or not that was a good thing, he didn’t know. Hydra wasn’t going to survive whatever came next. Pierce was probably in the wind. Rumlow was in their custody. The guns hadn’t made it to Abramovich.

The SHIELD agents behind Coulson rushed forward. They worked quickly to secure all of the weapons that Hydra had been trying to use him as a scapegoat for. James swallowed and looked away back towards Coulson.

“You’ll have enough to shut the whole thing down?” He asked. Coulson nodded.

“Easily.” Coulson nodded. “It’s going to be a little harder to clear your name.”

James nodded.

“But I know a really good lawyer.” He told James with a smile.

“I have a feeling I’m going to need one.” James admitted, looking around.

“There’s going to be a trial.” Coulson told him. “Not just for you but for the whole lot. All of Hydra.”

James looked to where a still unconscious Rumlow was loaded, entirely cuffed, on to a gurney by SHIELD agents in full Kevlar. James personally did not know, or care, if he was headed to the hospital or the prison first. James glanced towards the side, shocked to see the blood red pool ooze from where Dottie had fallen, and felt his stomach curdle. He hadn’t realized she had come down. And he had led her here. Guilty of some crime or not, James knew he had to come to terms with that. But so would Hydra.

“I have to make them pay for what they’ve done.” James told Coulson sharply.

“We’ll do that.” Coulson promised him.

There was a slam from the back of the room that sounded like something hard and heavy hitting the ground. James didn’t have time to react before he turned and watched as one of the Hydra agents that hadn’t been captured came screaming into the room, squeezing the trigger of one of the confiscated guns.

The last thought that James remembered having before everything went bright, was that the muzzle of the gun was pointed directly at him.

\------------------------------

When it was three hours past when Natasha had told Steve to expect them back, Steve got nervous. After four, he was practically vibrating while putting the twins to bed. At five hours late, Steve had to physically stop himself from blowing up their phones and demanding answers. The only thing that kept him from involving the police was knowing that SHIELD was already involved. And that James’ identity had a rather long rap sheet. He didn’t know what kind of consequences involving the police would really bring in for him. And he wasn’t willing to risk it.

When they piled into the house, they looked tired. They looked worn out. But they were also smiling. Steve tried to not let his concern show right away, instead pretending to have been engrossed in some show he couldn’t even name. He paused it and stood, reaching for the person closest to him.

“I’m so glad you guys are okay.” Steve told Natasha, hugging her tightly. But his eyes were already sliding over her shoulder to look for James. He wasn’t there. When he stepped back, Natasha saw the look on his face and knew what it meant immediately.

“He had to go with them.” She said quietly. The others were busy talking and laughing and didn’t hear.

“No.” Steve said it quietly, but knew that Natasha heard him by the way she winced and looked away.

“There’s going to be a trial. James wanted to make sure they paid for what they’d done.” Natasha shook her head. “They’ve got to clear his name as well. Coulson said something about a Senate Sub-Committee hearing about it. Officially making findings about Hydra.”

Steve’s stomach dropped. “They’re going after him as well?”

She just nodded. Steve rubbed his face.

“I thought that might. I didn’t want it too.” He honestly hated knowing that it would. “He’ll be okay?”

Natasha didn’t answer him. Steve didn’t want to think about it too hard.

“I’ll see him when he gets back.” Steve decided finally. Natasha winced again. Steve felt everything around him come to a screeching halt. He swallowed slowly. The realization dawned slowly enough that Steve felt it descend and curdle everything in his stomach. He felt vaguely ill.  “He’s not coming back at all, is he?”

Natasha shook her head.

“There wasn’t time.” She said quietly. Steve realized that everyone else was watching him.

“It’s for the best.” Steve said. He wanted to be stoic about it. After everything he’d done, James absolutely did not owe him a goodbye. James didn’t owe him anything.

“He did ask me to give you this.” She told him, pressing it in to his hands.

She pressed an envelope in to his hands and Steve looked down at it almost numbly.  “Thanks.”

“He didn’t want to write something cheesy.” She said, shifting uncomfortably. Steve didn’t want to open it with everyone there and she seemed to understand. She shrugged and smiled up at him. “I think he just wanted you to know that he didn’t hold this against you. He didn’t want to leave.”

The others all assured Steve that he and the twins would be fine. Sam and Riley silently waved at him and walked up the stairs towards Sam’s old room with overnight bags. Steve appreciated that they’d be staying with him for the night. But he didn’t want to talk to them. Instead he headed out to his garage.

The painting that was half finished taunted him from the easel. But his fingers itched to finish it, so he sat down and got back to work. And hours later, when he was stiff and sore from sitting on the wood stool for too long, he sat back and looked at the progress with something close to pride. And with it staring at him, he felt steady enough to open the note that James had left for him.

_I know this much is true- In another life, I would have loved being your husband._

\------------------------------

It was pathetic and he was a coward, James knew that. He hadn’t wanted to create more drama for Steve, that much was true. He’d wanted to give Steve space and closure and time to put all of this behind him. And, honestly, when he’d had the idea, it had sounded like a good one. Coulson, for all of his wisdom, hadn’t said a single word against it. Natasha hadn’t either, though she hadn’t seemed particularly pleased with him.

She had just scoffed and called him something rude in Russian that he pretended not to understand.

Point was, he’d been convinced that he was doing the right things. The way Steve Rogers would handle the situation. But in reality, he was hating himself over. A _note_. He’d left town with a _note_. He didn’t say goodbye face to face. He’d barely given the twins a hug and had jumped up the steps with a promise that he’d see them soon.

Which weighed on him a lot more than accounting for the actions of Hydra.

Though, James assumed the Senators sitting across the table from him would feel differently.

“Agent Barnes?” One of them motioned for James’ attention. He sat up straighter.

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that particular question.” James told them, making a point to speak directly in to the microphone. He heard his lawyer, Bernie, audibly slapped a hand against her head. She sighed and cleared her throat. On her other side, Phil stifled a laugh.

“The question was if you would be okay with breaking for the day.” She repeated for him.

“Which I think he answered for us.” Coulson nodded, looking at James over Bernie’s shoulder.

“I actually think we’ve gotten all that we need from Agent Barnes.” The Senator told them, nodding. He didn’t look impressed and had honestly looked pinched since the moment James had walked in to the room. And he must have something nice to say because he looked particularly awful. “You have an exemplary service record with the Army. And you have a long list of character references from former commanding officers. Tony Stark himself found my personal cell phone number and tried to vouch for your character until I got him to admit he didn’t actually know you personally, just of you.”

“Is there a point to this grandstanding, Senator?” Bernie snapped. James appreciated it.

“Just mentioning that the manner in which of the defendants side has moved about establishing the supposed character of Mr. Barnes casts doubt on the existence of his character in the first place.” The Senator snapped.

“It’s Agent, actually.” Bucky told him sharply. “And I’m not the one on trial here today.”

“Not today.” The senator agreed with a smug smirk.

“Or ever.” James snapped.

“One commission found you not liable. Other commissions may yet be allowed.” He told James smugly.

James only said nothing because of the hand Bernie put on his shoulder. “Senator Stern, the choice Tony Stark made to reach out is his own. And I’ll point out that, reputation from his 20’s aside, Mr. Stark is not just an upstanding citizen, but also a well-known philanthropist. Did you have an issue with his character?”

Stern huffed. “Just his personality.”

“Is his personality on trial?” Bernie snapped. There were titters around the whole room. One or two people were making murmurs of agreement. “And I can’t help but wonder, Senator, if your personal bias towards Mr. Stark should preclude you from dealings with SHIELD and Hydra. Given his father’s involvement with the founding of one and dismantling of the other.”

Stern gapped dramatically at the accusation. “Are you claiming that I have ties to Hydra? I have been thoroughly vetted and take my position as a Senator in this country to be very seriously.”

“I’m merely stating, on the record, that the focus of this hearing is not my client, but his former employer. One which, according to all official reports, framed him for any alleged crimes. We have proof that they attempted to implicate him in this most current crime, and compromise his identity.”

“I understand that-”

“Then we’re done. Not just for today, but for good.” Bernie told him, standing.

“Excuse me.” Stern started to protest, but Bernie held up a hand. She physically yanked James up.

“You’re excused.” Bernie quipped. “Unless criminal charges are going to be filed against my client, we’re going to consider this the end of the cooperation with this commission into the Hydra fiasco.”

Stern went absolutely red in the face. “Coulson, your people are okay with this?”

“Agent Barnes is one of my people now.” Phil told them simply. James preened slightly. Agent of SHIELD still felt weird to say. But he didn’t hate it. “And, frankly, I have to agree with Ms. Rosenthal’s assessment of this commission. I think we’re done here.”

James’ jaw was barely off of the floor when Bernie physically dragged him from the room. Coulson trailed after them both, but not by far. And he was the one to have the courage to actually turn and snap the doors shut behind them. James had to give him points for the sheer Drama of it. But when he turned towards them, his smile was demure and downright innocent.

“Do you have time for a cup of coffee?” He offered. “I’m sure you have a plane to catch.”

James cleared his throat. “I, uh, don’t actually.”

“I just assumed you would be heading back.” Coulson told him with a small frown. “You’ve got a spot on the task force to clean up. I remembered to tell you that, right?”

James laughed, turning slightly pink. “Yes, you told me that.”

Coulson raised an eyebrow.

“I just didn’t know when the commission was going to end their interviews.” James told him, shifting awkwardly. “But I’d love that coffee.”

“Can I offer you some free advice?” Coulson asked. But it was in the tone that told James that he couldn’t avoid the free advance if he actually wanted to. So, instead, all he did was nod dumbly and waited while Coulson pressed the button for the elevator. But even after he pressed the call button, he said nothing.

“Was that just a question, or did you actually have some advice?” James asked him.

“Yeah, I did.” Coulson nodded. And he timed it just as the door opened. “Don’t be an idiot.”

\------------------------------

And not being an idiot had seemed like such a good idea twelve hours earlier. Before James ended up here, on Steve’s porch, facing him down while Steve had the audacity to _laugh_ at his outrage.

“Abrasive?” James’s mouth dropped. How _dare_ he say something like that. “Did you really just try to excuse kidnapping me with the fact that I was _abrasive_?”

Steve leveled him with a look. “Would you prefer me to list all the ways in which you were an ass?”

“Just admit you kidnapped me for my ass, Steve, and save us all time.” James huffed. His husband, thankfully, snorted laughing at him instead of being offended. There was a beat where James remembered why he hadn’t ever wanted to leave. “I’m sorry about what I dragged to your doorstep. If I had any idea…”

He trailed off. Steve just shrugged.

“Not committing a felony kidnapping in the first place might’ve helped.” Steve admitted.

“Maybe.” James nodded along with him. Steve gasped, offended, until he saw the way James was smiling at him, right on the brink of laughter. Steve finally crossed his arms and gave James a suspicious look. The way James looked up at him put butterflies in his stomach.

“Why are you here?” Steve asked. James reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring on a chain.

The second of the matched set.

“I’m not here to force you to marry me for real.” James assured him. The ring was still between them.

“I’ll try to contain my disappointment.” Steve drawled. James swatted at him, but fought back a laugh.

“I’m here to ask you to dinner.” James explained with a nod. Then, because he wanted to be clear, he continued. “A date. With me. Somewhere just the two of us.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked him. James grinned. “Why?”

“Because I actually really liked being married to you.” James explained. Since he still hadn’t taken the ring, James grabbed his hand and pressed it into his palm gently. “You can hold on to this for now. But I’m gong to want it back.”

“No pressure.” Steve didn’t look like he was swooning over the idea, but his expression had softened.

Steve was staring down at James as if he was _nervous_ about this conversation. It wasn’t like Steve was the one making declarations about marriage and the future. The look on his face was almost queasy, like James was holding his hand over a flame. But when he looked up at James, he noticed something vulnerable in Steve’s face. James smiled.

“I could love you.” James forced out, because he was absolutely definitely going to go for broke.

Steve’s breath caught and he looked away. “I kidnapped you.”

“I let you.” James shrugged.

“I could love you, too.” Steve said quietly.

“It feels good to say it out loud.” James laughed and shifted awkwardly on his toes. Steve still was having trouble looking directly at him. James started to take a step back, but Steve’s arm shot out and snaked it’s way around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Was that all you came here to say?” Steve asked. James wasn’t sure what else he was looking for.

“Actually, I hear there’s a room for rent. Reasonable price? Great location? Room’s a little small but in a great neighborhood?” James glanced over Steve’s shoulder towards the garage door. “Any chance that’s still available?”

Steve followed James’s gaze and shrugged. “I dunno. Real estate’s hot in this town right now.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Some big shot spy got caught hiding out and now all the crazies are in town for a big trial. Conspiracy nuts. Fox News. Neighborhoods gone to hell, really.” Steve explained, scratching his chin. But he glanced down at James and smirked. “It’s gonna be hard to find a room for yourself anymore. Not for a reasonable price anyway.”

“What’re you charging?” James asked him.

“All my rooms are full. You could probably check the paper?” Steve shrugged. James’s jaw dropped again until Steve took James’s face in his hands and kissed him. It was just once, and not particularly deep, but it was sincere. When they parted, James was smirking up at him. Steve kissed him once more just to stop whatever quip was fighting its way out.

“I do have one idea though.” Steve told him quietly. “But it’s not exactly a private room.”

James sucked in a breath, but smiled. “That so?”

“I’ve got an awful big bed. At least that’s what someone told me once.” Steve stepped back, fingers locking around James’s wrist to tug him inside. His voice was soft and he seemed suddenly hesitant. They paused before crossing the threshold. Steve seemed to hesitate.

“You okay?” James asked him. Steve sighed and pressed his forehead to James’.

“I want to be honest.” Steve told him.

“I think we both need to insist on that.” James agreed. “We’ve had enough dishonesty.”

Steve was nodding and clearly already not listening. He swallowed. “I already love you.”

It was James’s turn to look away, suddenly overtaken with awkwardness.

“I know it’s a lot. And it’s fast. And I haven’t really thought out a speech because I honestly didn’t think you were going to come back.” James’s head shot up and Steve was staring right at him. He looked _scared_. James moved so that his arms wrapped around Steve. They were standing in the front hall just holding each other. Steve continued talking, whispering the words in to James’s ear. “I love how good you are with Wanda and Pietro. I love the way you sing when you cook. Like a tone-deaf Elvis.”

“Hey.” James went to pull away indignantly, but Steve wouldn’t let him. James could feel the chuckle as it rumbled through his chest.

“I’m in love with you.” Steve repeated. “And I want you to know that before you agree to anything else.”

James just curled deeper in to his arms. “I was always going to come back.”

“But are you staying?” Steve asked him. He pulled back slightly to stare down at James.

“I’m not sure you’d be able to get rid of me if you wanted to.” James told him, laughing. “Though I’m going to need a job. Hopefully Natasha’s hiring.”

Steve laughed. “We’re going to figure it out. Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Tons of credit goes to [Ribbonsflying](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbonsflying) for being the best beta and this fic wouldn't be the same without the artwork by ValecitaDraws and Angstassart! Check out the last drawings below!
> 
>   
> Bucky laughing with Drunk Steve  
>   
> BUcky and Steve Kiss

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  James in the Hot Tub  
>   
> James in the Hospital Bed  
>   
> James on the Way Home From the Hospital


End file.
